True Heelers Season 2
by Sam285
Summary: It has been over two months since the events of "Confidence Man" and life is going on for the officers of Mt. Thomas. Continuation of True Heelers.
1. Ep 21: Illusion of Life

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from Blue Heelers remains property of Southern Star and Channel Seven. However, after having already written twenty episodes set in the True Heelers universe, I'm sure I own bits and pieces of it by now.

Summary: It has been over two months since the events of "Confidence Man" and life is going on for the officers of Mt. Thomas.

**Episode 21: "Illusion Of Life"**

_Summary: In the season two return, the Heelers are placed in the firing line when Piper's past catches up with her. A new officer arrives in Mt. Thomas with a startling connection to his new colleagues, while Mark contemplates his future and what is really important to him._

Amy buried her face in her hands momentarily as she tried her utmost to calm her racing heart while her mind whirled about, barely able to focus on one thought for any longer than a few seconds, save for why she was there. It had been over two months since her miscarriage and life for the police officers of Mt. Thomas had returned to some semblance of normal. Or, as normal as it could be when they were still overworked and understaffed. Headquarters hadn't sent the replacements that they had been promised time and time again and they were beginning to wonder if they'd ever get their officers.

As Amy sat back on the hospital bed, the springs of the lumpy budget mattress stuck into the small of her back uncomfortably. But she didn't think about that. No, her mind had abandoned that train of thought almost as quickly as it had picked it up as she raised her head and went back to staring at the white door with its small glass pane. Zoe would be back soon, surely. She'd be back and then it'd all be clear. And, as Amy thought over just why she was there, she found herself wondering just what it was she felt. Relief? Grief? Shame? All of them? None of them? She couldn't make any sense of the strange feeling that tugged at her heart and mind, keeping her from any logical train of thought.

Finally, a set of light, high-heeled footsteps echoed down the corridor towards the room where Amy sat, her hands clasped together in her lap. She knew it was Zoe long before the older woman's kind face appeared in the glass pane, framed by tight dark ringlets. Zoe crossed the room to her, her expression melancholy and her eyes almost brimming with tears. Only Zoe's deep-rooted professionalism kept her from displaying just how personally involved she truly was. She set her familiar wooden clipboard aside as she approached Amy, placing a sympathetic hand on her shoulder as she moved.

A shiver went through Amy's spine. Zoe didn't even need to say it.

"I'm sorry," Zoe told her in a tiny whisper that made the strange feeling that swelled within her became more intense by the second. No, she told herself as her heart began to beat a little more urgently in her chest. Zoe didn't need to say it.

* * *

She kept her head down as she returned to the station, hoping that her immaculately done hair would be enough of a curtain to keep her colleagues from prying. Or, even worse, PJ. She could fob Mark, Dash and even Nick off with some half-hearted excuse, but not PJ. Almost twenty-five years in the job had made him a body language expert and she liked to think that his innate knowledge of her ran even deeper than that. She could never even attempt to put this past him. She needed something to distract her, to get her mind off what Zoe had said and back onto something more natural and comforting.

As she entered the CI office, PJ was sitting behind his desk, looking rather frazzled as he sorted through piles of paperwork that almost hid his face from view. His head snapped up at her entrance, a warm and relieved grin spreading across his weary face. Amy tossed her hair back from her face, trying her hardest to return PJ's gesture. She could tell by the way PJ's brow furrowed that he noticed her distraction. He was suddenly on his feet and had her in his arms before Amy even realised. She welcomed his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. "You sure you're alright?" he queried, closing his eyes momentarily as he ran the palms of his hands along her back, enjoying the feeling of her so close to his heart. "Last time you said you had the flu…"

Amy pulled away, a nervous, teary laugh escaping her lips as she looked up to PJ with shining eyes. The uncomfortable feeling that her hospital visit had brought on had all but vanished, replaced by the extraordinary security of PJ's strong and loving grasp. She wanted to tell him, but something held her back. She couldn't shatter him again. Not when he was walking again after the wheelchair. He'd put so much effort into walking and now that he was back on his feet, he could barely keep still. He had enough of his own burdens, who was she to give him anymore?

"I'm okay," she reassured him, reaching up to caress his cheek, tracing his cheekbone with her thumb. Her touch seemed to soothe him, adding weight to her words. Words which he, quite understandably, was cautious about trusting. She pulled away, patting his arm as her voice attained a certain quality that told PJ that the topic was well and truly closed for the time being. "Have Headquarters gotten off their backsides and sent us some replacements yet?" she queried as she headed over to his desk, picking up a folder as she began to skim over its contents.

PJ frowned before nodding slowly as he took the folder from Amy's hands. "Yeah," he replied with a vague gesture of his hand towards Mark's office. Amy let her gaze drift over to it briefly, focusing on Mark's hunched shoulders worriedly, before returning to PJ. "Someone rang Mark while you were at the hospital. Apparently numbers are a bit down this year, so we're only getting one Constable."

She froze, staring at him with a perplexed frown etched into her features. Indignation rose within her at the thought of Mt. Thomas being passed over by the powers that be, yet again. They had a crime rate to rival Melbourne and were so notorious as to be police folklore, yet were perpetually understaffed. A more naïve part of her mind questioned this, unable to comprehend why or how, but logic overpowered it. She knew as well as anyone else how police politics worked. Just because Mt. Thomas had the crime rate, didn't mean that they'd get the resources. It was as simple as that.

"Do you know who they're sending?" she asked, her eyes narrowed and her brow creased.

He nodded, setting the folder aside and reaching out to wrap his arms snugly around Amy's waist, pulling her close to his body. She stared up at him in bewilderment for a brief moment, before a content grin crept across her lips. Since the miscarriage, they'd been so wrapped up in one another that the rest of the world had almost become irrelevant. If only they weren't so understaffed…

"Yeah," he explained, raising a hand from her waist to play with the soft, silky strands of her fringe. Her hair was soft and set off the emerald green of her eyes so stunningly that it almost startled him. Everything about her seemed so beautiful and exquisite that he almost had to pinch himself just to believe that a second of it was real. "Some Probationary Constable fresh out of the academy. A mate of mine in Melbourne reckons that we're getting some Superintendent's kid. Wouldn't give me a name, though."

Amy laughed, looking away as she shook her head in disbelief. She hadn't been in contact with a Probationary Constable in so long that she had almost forgotten what it could be like to have one around. Kelly and Joss had left those days behind during her time in Melbourne and Homicide hadn't exactly given her much uniformed contact. It could be nice to have someone new around. Someone to remind them all of what it was they were fighting for.

* * *

Nick sat back at his desk, fingers intertwined behind his head as he stared at the computer screen in frustration. He hated technology. Computers had stopped agreeing with him a long time ago, by which point he'd risen high enough in the ranks to have enough people to do the work for him. But here in Mt. Thomas, there weren't enough uniforms beneath him, especially now Kelly and Joss were gone. So he was stuck doing his own paperwork.

At the desk across from his, Dash was working at her own computer, looking thoroughly bored. Although Nick would never tell her, he was glad to have her around. She could be a pain when she wanted to be, but at least they understood one another. And there was a strange kind of respect between them. Sure they'd tease each other, but it was never serious. Just some light-hearted fun. It was almost like old times.

He was disturbed from his lazy reflection by the sound of the buzzer from the reception area. He very nearly leapt out of his chair in surprise. He could now see just why people like Ben and Jonesy had hated that buzzer so much. Turning his gaze towards Dash again, he could see that she was regarding the figure on the monitor with curiosity.

Nick frowned thoughtfully as he too studied the image on-screen. It was a young man, probably only in his early twenties, wearing a police uniform. Neat brown hair was brushed down around his face, with a soft fringe falling over his forehead. He looked a little on the short side, but still fairly sturdy. But even so, he looked slightly uncomfortable in that police uniform. Definitely only a new kid.

He turned back to Dash, raising an eyebrow as they shared a mutual smile. There was something oddly heartening about a Probationary Constable.

"I'll grab it!" Dash explained, waving a hand towards Nick vaguely. As she disappeared into the reception area, almost bouncing with enthusiasm as she walked, Mark stepped out from his office. His eyes were lit with a vague curiosity from behind his reading glasses, asking Nick silently for an explanation.

Nick nodded towards the door Dash had just went through as he sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk as he turned back to his computer. It was still not agreeing with him, it seemed. "It's our new kid," he told Mark simply and no more needed to be said.

Mark nodded, folding his arms across his chest as a distant smile crept across his face. He fondly remembered Kelly and Joss as Probationary Constables. They had brought such vitality into the station that he hadn't seen before or since. He was hoping that this new officer could help breathe a little life into the team.

* * *

As Dash opened the door to the reception room, she found a broad cheerful smile creeping across her lips. The young man before her seemed quite different in person than he had on camera, with a beaming grin that instantly put her at ease. He was barely taller than her, but he was sturdy and calm. He was only young, perhaps scarcely older than she had been when she'd first joined the force, but there was something in his pale olive eyes that could have easily convinced Dash that he was much older. A kind of wisdom and maturity that almost startled her. But, overall, he made her feel comfortable and his extended hand confirmed it for her. "I'm Probationary Constable Barnett," he explained as Dash took his hand.

She could help a tiny chuckle as she finally pulled her hand away. He was strong for someone of his size and age. "I'm Senior Constable Dash McKinley," she introduced herself, gesturing vaguely to the badge on her chest.

He nodded, his eyes narrowed in bewilderment. "Dash is a strange name," he observed, before turning a violent shade of red. He averted his gaze, mumbling an embarrassed apology under his breath. He was nervous, Dash could tell. He was uncomfortable and gave her the impression of a kangaroo caught in the headlights.

Hoping to put him at ease, she waved her hand dismissively. "Yeah," she told him with a light laugh that almost seemed to echo around the reception area, "it is a bit unusual, isn't it? It's not my real name. My real name's Deidre, but no one uses it unless they want to be in great pain." He looked up to her with a start, only for his face to flush with relief at the sight of her winking playfully. "Anyway," Dash continued, lifting the swing-top counter for him to come through. "You've got to have a first name, Probationary Constable Barnett. You can tell me, it can't be any worse than mine."

"You'd be surprised," he told her with a weak chuckle, before finally sighing resignedly. "It's Ringo."

Dash's jaw almost dropped open in disbelief. "Ringo?" she queried with a broad smile. "As in Starr? As in The Beatles' Ringo Starr?"

Ringo nodded sadly, running shaky fingers of one hand through his hair while he adjusted his black backpack with the other. "Yeah," he replied dismally. "My Mum had an obsession with The Beatles. Four kids all named after them. Johnny, Georgia, Paul and me."

Dash had to fight the urge to laugh. She'd often wondered about why her parents would have come up with Deidre, even after nine children. Suddenly, she just felt very glad that they hadn't had decided on the same path that Ringo's parents had. "That must be hard," she told him, earning a puzzled stare in response. "I mean, being the one named Ringo."

"You don't know the half of it," he commented as he turned towards the door leading back into the muster room. "So, am I going to get to meet anyone else…Dash?" He shot her a playful smile, which brought Dash to laughter.

She got the feeling that they were going to get along just fine.

* * *

Ringo's eyes widened as he cast his gaze around the muster room, his mind frozen in awe. He'd seen police stations before, but this one seemed very different. His father's station had always had a cold, antiseptic feel to it that had always made him feel strangely unwelcome. He'd expected the Mt. Thomas station to be more or less the same, even after the warm reception he'd received from Dash. But Mt. Thomas was different. There was a homely feel to the muster room and the four officers who looked up to stare at him as he entered. The station felt more like his home than his home had ever been.

The eldest of the group stepped forward, whisking his glasses from his nose in one swift movement as he offered Ringo his hand. Ringo took it, offering the taller Senior Sergeant a respectful smile. "I'm Senior Sergeant Mark Jacobs," Mark explained as he pumped Ringo's hand a couple of times before stepping back. "There's supposed to be a tradition of calling the man in charge 'Boss', but that died with the last Senior Sergeant. Just call me Mark. Everyone else does."

Ringo opened his mouth to argue, but found that nothing came out. He didn't like the idea of calling his superiors by their first names. He could handle Dash, but he wasn't so sure if he'd be able to manage Mark. The thought of what his father would say was almost physically painful. "I'm Probationary Constable Ringo Barnett…" He paused, certain that he'd heard a chuckle from the direction of the tallest officer. He sighed, before finally shrugging. Mark quickly reassured him with a friendly smile.

"Welcome to the team, Ringo," he told him, clapping him on the back before turning to the other officers. "Dash, you've met. Ah…there's Senior Detectives Amy Fox and PJ Hasham," Mark motioned over towards the plain clothes officers, who both stepped forward obliging to shake Ringo's hand. They seemed nice enough, Ringo decided. Even though PJ seemed to be studying him a little too intently. "…and your Sergeant, Nick Schultz."

Nick rose to his feet at the mention of his name, staring down at Ringo coolly as he shook his hand. He was much taller than Ringo, and the height difference unnerved him somewhat. Everyone except Dash was taller than him, but Mark, Amy and PJ didn't seem to tower like Nick did. If it wasn't for the uniform, Ringo wasn't quite sure if he'd have picked Nick as a copper or a criminal.

As if sensing Ringo's uneasiness, Dash leapt forward, patting Nick's shoulder playfully. "Don't worry about Nicholas here, Ringo," she reassured him with a laugh. "Nick's bark is worse than his bite. You're just a big softy, aren't you Nicko?"

Ringo watched in curiosity as Nick glared at Dash momentarily, before a smile spread across his face. "Deidre might just be right, Starry," Nick mumbled, pulling away from the younger woman's grip. "But she's not right about everything, despite what she might think."

Dash stared at him in mock indignation, barely restraining laughter. "You're just begging for me to kill you, aren't you?" she asked him, dragging Nick off to the mess room as their bickering continued. From behind him, Ringo could hear chuckling from his new colleagues.

"Welcome to Mt. Thomas," Amy told him with a knowing grin. It was a grin that instantly told Ringo that, no matter how insane his colleagues might appear sometimes, he was going to like this town.

But out of the corner of his eye, he could see that PJ was still studying him. The name PJ Hasham was familiar, he was certain. But he just couldn't remember why.

* * *

Amy followed PJ back into the CI office, a broad and content grin upon her lips. Ringo Barnett's arrival had pushed her appointment with Zoe to the back of her mind, where she was quite content to let it stay until she was ready enough to deal with it. She wasn't entirely sure when that would be, but she was just grateful for the distraction.

Ringo seemed like a nice enough guy. A little overwhelmed by his new colleagues and first posting, perhaps, but he seemed friendly and almost wise beyond his years. The moment she'd laid eyes upon him, she'd known that he'd make a good officer. Just as long as he got the right training.

PJ flopped down behind his desk, chin resting in his hand as he stared at the CI laptop imploringly. It was almost as though he had drifted away to another place and time and it made Amy curious. She pulled her chair over and reached out to squeeze his hand within hers. "Do you know him?" she queried, earning a puzzled look from PJ.

"What?"

"Ringo Barnett," she explained, squeezing his hand tighter in the hope that it would make her words sink in. "You seemed a little distant. Do you know him?"

He frowned distractedly as he considered Amy's words, before shaking his head slowly and deliberately. "No," he replied softly, his brow furrowing in deep thought. "His father was an instructor at the academy when I was there, but I've never laid eyes upon the kid before."

"Then why were you staring at him like that?" Amy asked him, narrowing her eyes in bewilderment. PJ's behaviour and comments had become almost cryptic and she wished more than anything else that he would just go back to his usual straight-forward and direct self. She had wanted a distraction, not some puzzle involving PJ and the new Probationary Constable.

PJ sighed, before shaking his head bleakly. "I don't really know," he confessed quietly. "I just…his face…the way he moves, the way he talks…there's something familiar there. It's like…I've met him before but…but that's impossible. He wouldn't have even been born when I met his father." His frown grew more intense as PJ's confusion deepened. "There's just something about him, Amy. Just…something I recognise."

Amy sighed; resting her chin in her hand as she considered PJ with a sad sympathy. She could tell how badly this was troubling him and how desperately he wanted to know why he felt so drawn to this new officer. "Maybe you should talk to him," she suggested with a thoughtful shrug. "Maybe he'll have some idea."

He nodded, meeting her eyes lovingly. Yet, beneath all the love and adoration his eyes offered her, there was preoccupation and distraction. "Yeah," he agreed as he lent over to kiss her lips tenderly. He treasured every second of their lips connecting, until eventually he broke away. "Maybe he'll know. Maybe I should…" PJ trailed off as he cast he gaze across the photographs on his desk, only to freeze in horror as he fixated on one in particular. Amy frowned in concern as she followed his gaze to an image of Maggie Doyle. The frame looked battered and almost partly melted, but the image was beautiful and clear, as though newer than it was.

PJ picked it up, not once tearing his gaze from the image of Maggie's face. Amy felt something burning within her. She was certain it wasn't jealousy. It was more like frustration. He was so focused on this photo that he wasn't telling her what was going on. She finally placed a tender hand upon his shoulder, which seemed to startle him back to earth. "He's like Maggie," he whispered, handing the photograph to Amy. Amy took it in confusion, staring up at PJ with narrowed eyes. "Everything I thought about Ringo that was familiar…it's because I recognised it in Maggie…and Pat too."

Amy stared down at the photograph, frowning as she looked over Maggie's face. She wasn't quite sure that she could see anything of Ringo in the youthful pale face looking lifelessly back up at her or the beautiful blonde hair that almost seemed to bounce around Maggie's face. But as she began to think of Pat, she found herself wondering if maybe PJ was correct. If Pat had been a good forty years younger, he and Ringo would physically have been not too dissimilar. And, the more she thought about it, the more she found herself realising that Ringo and Maggie did have similar cheekbones and similar smiles.

"You could be right," she admitted as she offered PJ the photograph, "but what's the connection? It could just be coincidence…" She paused, suddenly realising that she didn't quite believe that. Sure, coincidences did happen, but not quite like this. No…this was more than just coincidence and she knew it.

A new life seemed to suddenly rush into PJ as he turned to the laptop and began typing hurriedly. Amy's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm going to find out," PJ told her. "Whatever Ringo Barnett's connection to the Doyles is, I'm going to find out."

* * *

Ringo frowned as he stared at his locker, feeling a little disheartened by just how empty it was. He was neat and tidy by nature and had never really been one for accumulating junk. With only a jacket and spare uniform inside, his locker looked almost tragically empty. He imagined that his desk would be the same. All his new colleagues had desks cluttered with photographs, files and little bits and pieces and even Amy's desk looked relatively cluttered. As he closed his locker silently, he heard a loud knock at the closed mess room door.

Barely seconds later, it opened to reveal PJ standing in the doorway, holding what appeared to be a small photo frame in his hands. The older detective invited himself inside, offering Ringo a kind of preoccupied half-smile. "How's your first day going?" he queried, trying to make conversation.

"Fine, Senior Detective Hasham," Ringo replied, standing up a little straighter in the presence of a superior officer. His father had often told him that detectives moved in a different circle to uniforms, but you had to treat them with respect all the same. Even if they didn't return it.

PJ chuckled lightly as he waved off Ringo's formalities. "Mate, you're not at the academy now," he explained. "PJ's fine. The only person who has ever called me anything more formal than that was my mother. Out here in the sticks, you don't have to worry about the formal stuff."

Ringo nodded sharply and had been about to reply with 'yes, sir', before quickly remembering PJ's words. He relaxed slightly. "Sure, PJ."

"That's more like it," PJ commented with a grin, before his expression grew more sombre. He perched himself on the edge of the mess room table, before looking down to the photograph in his hands. He didn't love Maggie in the way he had once done and the passion he had for Amy couldn't be matched, but he felt like he owed it to Maggie to find out about Ringo all the same. The more time he spent in Ringo's company, the more certain of that he became. "How's your father going? I haven't seen him since I was at the academy."

"Fine," Ringo answered shortly, his cheerfulness vanishing. He didn't like conversation about his father, the man who had only ever talked about the police and made him work five times harder than anyone else to impress him. And talking about his father only ever made him wish that his mother hadn't died when she had. "Can we…talk about something else?"

PJ nodded as he folded his arms across his chest, a little confused by Ringo's reluctance to talk about his father. But he decided not to pry. He'd worry about the Doyle connection before he messed around in anything other aspect of Ringo's life. "Sure, mate," he replied. He paused for a long moment, before finally daring himself to meet Ringo's wise eyes. "You ever heard of a man called Pat Doyle?"

The look of horror that passed through Ringo's face was unmistakable. PJ almost recoiled from it. Pat's name had brought on such a visible reaction that it scared PJ. Ringo finally nodded slowly. "My dad talked about him," he mumbled, all of his confidence and enthusiasm ebbing away. PJ stomach began to tie itself into knots in his abdomen. Why on earth would Pat's name reduce Ringo to this? Something was desperately wrong. "He was a criminal, a corrupt copper. He destroyed his family." Ringo's words cut PJ deeply, making him want to be very ill. But he noticed that there was a dullness to Ringo's voice, almost as though he didn't really believe what he was saying. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just…you just reminded me of him, that's all," PJ replied, shrugging thoughtfully. His words made Ringo look disgusted, as though the thought of being compared to Pat Doyle was simply abhorrent. "He's not as bad as you seem to think he is," PJ continued quickly, his heart beginning to pound urgently in his chest. "He's a good man and he didn't destroy his family. And he wasn't really as corrupt as you think." PJ waited, wondering if Ringo would comment, but instead he just stared at him blankly. "I've known Pat for a very long time. Your father's got him completely wrong."

Ringo frowned at PJ's words, something stirring within him. It was an old suspicion, one that had been telling him for about as long as he could remember that the Doyles weren't as bad as he'd been told. Johnny, Georgia and Paul had simply accepted the version of the Doyles that their father had told them, but Ringo couldn't. But how was PJ related and why was his name familiar? "How do you know him?"

"Pat Doyle was almost my father-in-law," PJ explained, unfolding his arms as he looked at the photograph thoughtfully. For a moment, he was hesitant about giving one of his only remaining pictures of Maggie to Ringo, but he quickly dismissed it. It felt right. Ringo took it, his eyes widening. "That's Maggie, Pat's youngest. She was an officer here for six years. Six wonderful, short years. I loved her. We were going to get married. But she got messed up in something that she shouldn't have and was killed."

Ringo's mouth suddenly dropped open as memories surfaced. PJ Hasham…of course! Hadn't his father mentioned him, once or twice, in connection to Pat Doyle? It was all coming back…PJ had been Pat's daughter's fiancée…the daughter that had been killed by her own brother, who had been killed by Pat in return.

"Why did your father tell you all that?" PJ asked, his voice a little indignant.

The Probationary Constable stared at PJ in uncertainty for a long moment, before finally flopping back against the lockers and beginning to speak. "My mother was Pat Doyle's little sister."

* * *

Mark passed a hand across his weary eyes as he crossed the muster room, returning to his office from the lost property cage. With Ringo still settling in and Nick and Dash now preoccupied with the Widgeree pub robbers search, there was no one left to sort out the mess it had become. So he'd done it himself. It was an act that he knew was beneath his rank and he was certain that Tom Croydon probably would have reminded him that it was something Nick should have sorted out, but he didn't care. Besides, it kept his mind busy, especially with Penny acting the way she was.

She was having an affair, that was for certain. He'd suspected it for over a year, but he'd never been able to prove it…or, not until he'd come home late to find another man's wallet on the table. He'd left it there, not wanting to start an argument and he was sure that Penny didn't know that he'd seen it, but it had made him feel sick. He'd pushed her into the arms of another man and, if it wasn't for their daughter at uni in Melbourne, he was sure that they'd be divorced by now.

He'd left the house as soon as he could without arousing Freya's suspicions. But Freya was smart; she'd probably worked it out for herself. He had to admit, anyone could have worked it out after the toxic silence that had hung over the table at breakfast. Mark couldn't even look Penny in the eye for fear of bursting into tears or throwing up or both at the same time.

And then there was Piper. He could have tolerated Penny's affair if only Piper would return his calls. But everyday he rang her office in St. Davids and everyday was told she wasn't in by some lowly uniform. That one kiss still tingled on his lips, comforting him and reassuring him that the thirty-five years without her wouldn't matter now she was here again. But the memory of the kiss was slowly fading after so many months and it pained him to realise that she was only in St. Davids, but as unreachable as if she was on the other side of the world.

He was so preoccupied with his own painful thoughts that he didn't notice the slumped, frightened figure in the chair opposite his desk until it spoke. "Mark?"

Piper's voice hit him with all the force of a speeding car, yet it sounded strange and unfamiliar. Mark's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her, but it quickly turned to horror. She was wearing a hastily thrown-on tracksuit and her hair wasn't done, leaving little curls to fall down around her face. What was perhaps most worrying of all were her eyes. They were tear filled and red and betrayed all the fear and shame that Mark had never thought her capable of. Not the Piper Morris who had shown up every man at the academy.

"Piper," he whispered, crossing the office to her slowly, barely remembering to close the door behind him. Not that anyone was going to eavesdrop, anyway. He found that his voice barely came to him now that he was faced with the woman he had only seen in dreams since September. "What…what the hell happened to you?"

She stared up at him, not really registering his words. She just wanted to stay here forever, listening to the beautiful sound of his voice. She treasured every syllable of it, letting it remind her of what had undoubtedly been a simpler time. She missed those long academy days of lying together in bed, their fingers intertwined and warm sunsets dragging on for hours. She missed the tender kisses, the caresses from a man who didn't see her scars, her hurt, her shame. Just a man who loved her. And she'd thrown it all away not once, but twice. "I'm scared," she finally explained, her voice almost breaking into sobs. "There's a…there's a price on my head."

Mark's jaw dropped open in horror. He didn't need to ask Piper what she'd meant by a price on her head. Someone wanted her dead and there was a reward going for the person who killed her. In his shock, his mind only numbly considered the rumours about her that had circulated over thirty-five years ago. "Why?" he demanded in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. "Why would they want you dead?"

"You're a smart man, Mark," Piper told him, shaking her head in disbelief. She had expected him to remember as soon as she told him. "You know why."

"The rumours?" he mumbled, shrugging weakly as he blindly felt his way around to his chair and pulled it close to Piper. He couldn't bear to tear his gaze away from her for even a second. "But…but that was such a long time ago…and they were just…"

Piper shook her head slowly. She reached out, closing her hand around his. Her touch seemed to light something in his eyes, something she'd almost forgotten existed. The passion and the life she had loved about him. The arty, intelligent suburbs boy who'd joined the coppers to please his veteran father. "They weren't rumours, Mark," she told him pointedly. "Warren Kane had an empire. I was one of his call girls, his favourite call girl supposedly. I thought it would be an easy life, until I found out the hard way. He wouldn't let me go, I knew he'd never let me go. So I reported him to the coppers and their idea of a reward was to keep my record clean."

Mark shook his head; he wasn't going to listen to this. He'd heard these rumours at the academy and he hadn't believed a word of it then and he wasn't going to believe a word of it now, not even when it was coming out of Piper's mouth. "No," he told her firmly. "Don't say that…"

"Please…" Piper whispered imploringly, squeezing his hand so tightly that Mark was convinced that she'd cut the circulation off. "I'm not lying. I wouldn't lie to you now, not when they've found me again, not when they're going to kill me…"

He frowned, his mind whirring at high speed. He could remember everything now, every little detail of the rumours. But clearer than that were the memories of what Piper had told her about her past, her family. They'd spent endless days talking about their families, about how they had both joined the coppers to live up to expectations, about how they'd both get to the top and show everyone what they could do. "What about everything you told me?" he asked, his voice close to wobbling and breaking. "What about your war veteran father and grandfather, what about your nurse mother and teacher older sister? How do they fit into this call girl story?"

"They don't!" Piper cried, tiny tears breaking free of her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. "They're not real! They never have been and never will be! I made them up!"

"But…why…"

"Because the real story makes me sick to think about, let alone anyone else!" Piper snapped, glaring at him hard. Mark was a nice, affable kind of man who was quite intelligent, in his own way. Surely he couldn't be this stupid. She decided to put it down to denial. He'd kept her on a pedestal for so long and now she was coming down and proving herself to be more flawed than he ever could have known. "My mother died when I was six. The next night, my father came to my bedroom and told me how much I looked like her. Then he raped me." Piper paused as she heard Mark make a weak kind of choking sound. "He didn't just do it once; he did it night after night until I was seventeen years old. Then I walked out. I went to school that morning and never went home. I fell in with Warren's crowd."

Mark looked away momentarily, desperately willing himself to not show the anger he felt deep inside. It wasn't anger with Piper or the lies she'd told him, but rather with the circumstances that had brought Piper to Warren Kane. "You should have told me…" he began, only to find himself interrupted.

"Why?" she asked him, no longer yelling. Instead, her voice had dropped back to a soft whisper, one which was closer to the Piper he remembered. "What good would it have done? I didn't realise then that I had a price on my head. I've only just worked it out. They've been tracking me for years and now they've found me, they're going to kill me. I'd thought it was over, Mark. But…but then the rumours started and I guess that was only the beginning."

Sudden realisation spread across Mark's face. "That's why you broke up with me?" he queried, eyes wide. "You knew I'd heard the rumours and thought I'd be disgusted?"

She stared at him coolly. "Well, weren't you?"

"No," he replied, looking to her hand around his. The sight brought a trace of a smile to his pale lips and gave him heart. Whatever else had happened and whatever else was going on, she was here with him, holding his hand. "No. You didn't need to break up with me, Piper. I loved you then and I love you now, no matter what else happened." He reached out, gently cradling her chin in the palm on his hand. "I'll always love you. You're the one I should have married."

Piper wished more than anything else that the tears on her cheeks would just stop. But she couldn't. Mark was saying everything to her that she'd ever dreamed of hearing him say. "I wish I was the one you married," she whispered in reply.

* * *

Amy bundled the pile of paperwork on PJ's desk up into her arms and headed off towards one of the shelves against the wall with a heavy heart. It had been easy to forget about Zoe's words when she had people around her to keep her distracted. But with PJ having a deep and meaningful with Ringo in the mess room and Mark preoccupied with a rather shaky looking Piper in his office, she was on her own.

She still didn't know how she felt about her diagnosis, if she was to be totally honest with herself. But, somewhere deep inside her, she was certain that she'd chosen the right thing. It just remained to be seen whether or not PJ felt the same way. Telling him was going to be the hardest thing. He had enough on his plate without more of her problems.

She dumped the pile on the shelf before turning back to the last few remaining. Without anything else to do, she'd turned to cleaning up. It seemed that, in times of uncertainty, her first instinct was still to clean.

Without warning, the door to the CI office opened. The sound startled Amy so much that the files slipped from her arms, falling to the floor with a dull thud. She let a groan of frustration escape her lips as she crouched down, forgetting to even check who had entered. She soon realised as Mark began to help her tidy up.

"Sorry," she told him with a weak smile as he handed her the few sheets of paper he had managed to grab. He eyed her worriedly.

"Are you okay?" he asked her as he watched her dump the now unordered and crumpled files back on PJ's desk. "You look like you could do with a scotch or a good coffee at least."

She turned to him, laughing wearily at his comment. "Whatever happened to caffeine being bad for you?"

Mark frowned at her in bewilderment, before suddenly remembering the early morning several years before when he had sold Amy chocolate on the grounds that chocolate caffeine was better than coffee caffeine. The fact that she even remembered that brought a weak laugh to his lips, before Piper's revelation hit him. "Piper Morris is in danger, Amy," he told her in a voice that Amy barely even heard, "and I need your help."

Amy's eyes narrowed in confusion as she watched Mark pull a mobile phone from his pocket. It was a fairly old model, much bigger than any phone she had seen in the last five years or more. An old Nokia, she realised as he played with the keys for several seconds before offering it over to her. Her brow furrowed as she took it from him and began to read what was on-screen. It was a text message. "You might still be breathing," she read, her voice soft and thoughtful, "but it's just an illusion of life. You're the walking dead. You've been living on borrowed time and I'm coming to collect…Warren." She stopped when she reached the name at the end of the message and looked up to Mark in confusion. "Who's Warren?"

Mark sighed resignedly as he took the phone from Amy and gestured for her to follow him back to his office. "Someone you should be glad you don't know," he told her simply, effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

Amy followed Mark out of his office almost fifteen minutes after she entered. He went to lead her back to the CI office, but noticing PJ's return, changed his mind. Instead, she followed him down the corridor to the mess room. Once inside, Mark locked the door and turned to her, as if begging her with his eyes for some kind of solution. And, as she perched herself on the table where PJ had been sitting not long before, she feared that she didn't have the solution Mark so desperately sought.

"Warren Kane's still a big-time force in Melbourne," Amy mused, shrugging thoughtfully. "I didn't recognise his name straight away, but…God, she's lucky to have survived this long if she managed to shut down his biggest brothel." She paused, watching as Mark's expression fell.

She wished that she knew what to say, but she simply didn't. She'd played with fire before and she'd gotten burnt from the experience. But Lloyd Johnson's Homicide corruption was different to Warren Kane's city-wide empire. Lloyd had played on people's fear. She had freed herself from him by showing him that she was no longer afraid. But Warren…she got the distinct impression that standing up to Warren would do nothing more than get Piper killed sooner. Warren was a different kind of enemy.

"What can we do?"

"I don't think there's anything we can do, really," Amy replied with a weak shrug. She felt almost guilty about crushing Mark's hopes like this. She had been wrapped up in her own world lately, but not so much that she couldn't see the burning love Mark had for Piper. She wanted to soothe him somehow, reassure him that it would all be alright, but she couldn't. Not when she wasn't so sure that it was even possible for this to have a happy ending. No matter how she looked at this, Piper couldn't win. "I want to tell PJ."

Mark frowned, a little torn. He already felt bad enough for bringing Amy into this, but he had thought she'd know what to know. She was intelligent and she'd spent a long time in Melbourne. Not to mention how she'd brought down Lloyd Johnson's corruption ring. He didn't know if he really wanted PJ involved as well. "Are you sure?"

Amy considered Mark's question momentarily, before nodding. No, she wasn't entirely sure, but she wasn't sure about anything at the moment. PJ had experience on his side and, if it came to the last resort she hoped not to have to raise with Mark, then PJ knew about Witness Protection too. And, if she was entirely honest, she just wanted him there for security. She'd feel safer if he was involved too. "He's got contacts and experience," she told Mark simply. "I can't offer that."

He thought over Amy's words, before finally smiling weakly in response. That was all the agreement Amy needed. She slipped off the table and headed back into the main station, leaving Mark alone in the mess room. It was ironic, he realised dismally as he flopped back into the nearest chair. He was surrounded by people, but he'd never felt more alone in his life.

* * *

Mark tapped the steering wheel impatiently as he drove, casting brief glances to Piper out of the corner of his eye. She sat in the passenger seat, every ounce of the self-confidence and driving determination he had known of her having disappeared. She was slumped against the car window, her forehead resting on the cool glass. It was a cool evening, given the sweltering heat of that day. But Mark had hardly noticed. He'd spent most of that day keeping Piper hidden in his office while Amy and PJ had been busy on the phone. All they'd managed to work out was that Warren Kane was after her. There was definitely a price on Piper's head.

They were heading out to the old Anderson place on the property next to Mark's. PJ had told him that he needed to get Piper somewhere safe overnight and the grim look in his eyes told Mark that it was best not to argue. And, remembering the spare keys that the real estate had forgotten to collect when the Andersons moved out three years ago, he'd decided that that was the perfect place.

The house loomed up ahead, large and lonely despite the well-established trees that surrounded it. As Mark pulled the car to a stop, he took it in with a half-smile. It was truly a beautiful country property. "Here it is," he told Piper, finally shattering the uneasy silence.

She turned to him, looking startled yet comforted by the sound of his voice. She treasured every syllable. "It's beautiful," she replied in an awed whisper as she took in the building. Then she added, without thinking, "It's the kind of place I dreamed of living in when I was a kid."

Mark turned to her, the weak glimmer of hope in his eyes making Piper realise just what she'd said. Pulling her jacket tighter around her torso, she forced a tentative smile. Mark returned it. "So did I," he confided gently and, without another word, climbed out of the car and headed over to the house with Piper close behind.

* * *

The steaming coffee permeated Amy's vision so unexpectedly that she almost jumped. Looking back over her hunched shoulder, she met PJ's eyes and offered him a weak smile of thanks. He leant in to plant the tenderest of kisses on her lips and Amy found herself melting with pleasure at the connection. She'd yearned for him throughout that day, yearned for the simplicity and gentleness of their lives barely twenty-four hours ago. But as he finally pulled away, she realised that Piper would have to come first.

He slipped around to his desk, sinking back into his office chair. He rose his feet to rest them upon the desk's surface, intertwining his fingers behind his head. If Amy hadn't known him better, she would have sworn that he was completely calm and at peace. But she did know him better and she did know that he was just as torn as she was. Mark had been such an affable Senior Sergeant and a much better man to fill Tom Croydon's shoes than they would ever have initially expected and it hurt them to think of what this would do to him.

Finally, PJ spoke. "I've gotten onto a mate of mine in Witness Protection," he began hesitantly. "He's dealt with some of the people who have off sided Warren Kane in the past. He reckons that Piper's as good as dead unless…" He trailed off, not needing to continue. Amy's slow and deliberate nod told him that she understood perfectly.

She gave a distracted sigh as she let her head fall back, biting her thumbnail absentmindedly. "She's the walking dead," she mused, remembering the text message with a sickening lurch. "She's still breathing, but it's an illusion of life." She frowned as she sat forward, clasping her hands around the warm surface of the mug to steady her pounding heart. "How are we going to tell Mark that she needs to go into Witness Protection?" she asked him plainly. "It'll break his heart. He loves her, no matter how much he's attempted to hide it. It was pretty bloody clear from the moment she walked into this station…"

PJ sighed as he rose to his feet, his casual demeanour broken. He placed a tender hand upon Amy's, offering her a kind and somewhat distant smile as he gently pulled her to her feet. He enveloped her in his arms and, for a long moment, Amy wondered why he was making this sort of gesture when he'd normally be more preoccupied with the case. Then, she remembered Maggie. He'd once been in Mark's situation, faced with the possibility of having the woman he loved alive and breathing, but beyond reach.

"We'll help him," he told her pointedly. "We'll be there for him as good mates should. All of us. Between his mates and his job, he'll make it. I'm sure."

* * *

Ringo squinted through the darkness as he cast his torch around the National Park. Although he would never admit it to Dash, he wasn't very steady on his feet in the dark. He much preferred broad daylight, where he had more than just a narrow stream of light to guide him.

She walked somewhere beside him, her calm and regular breathing comforting him somewhat. She was a country girl; she knew this place like the back of her hand, or even better if Nick was to be trusted. Unlike him, who had never been any further than half an hour away from Melbourne before. He was more accustomed to skyscrapers than national parks. Having Dash with him was a relief.

From beside him, her voice pierced the silence. "You scared, Ringo?"

He jumped, spinning to face her in surprise. He stumbled backwards at the sight that greeted him. She was grinning broadly and laughing as she aimed her torch up from underneath her chin. The light cast frightening shadows across her face and, in his frazzled state, Ringo fell backwards with a groan. Within seconds, he was laughing too as shock gave way to flooding relief. "I know that you're meant to hang shit on the new kid, but come on!" he told her with a mock disapproving shake of his head. "Couldn't you come up with something that hasn't been a mainstay of every horror movie made within my lifetime?"

Dash, a little startled herself by Ringo's response, lowered the torch as she almost doubled over laughing. She finally stepped forward, offering Ringo her hand. "You alright?" she queried.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied as he took her hand, slowly clambering back to his feet. "I landed on the one part of me that has its own built-in airbag."

It took a brief moment for Ringo's comment to sink in, but Dash burst out laughing when she finally realised what he'd meant. She gave him a playful slap as she headed off again, casting her torch light across the well-worn path. "You're a dag, Ringo," she told him with a light chuckle.

Ringo quickly jogged along to catch up with her, panting slightly. He was rather athletic and had always taken well to sport. In fact, he'd taken to everything except cooking without much difficulty. But he was tired and it had been a while since his high school hockey days. "Yeah?" he retorted as he stuck out his tongue in reply. "Well, so are you."

Dash stopped, her mind momentarily cast back in time. The last time someone had called her a dag was Tom Croydon the day she had left Mt. Thomas and the police force. A distant smile crept across her face at the thought. She loved her colleagues and the town as it was now, but she couldn't help but regret all the time she had missed.

As she finally snapped back to reality, she noticed that Ringo had walked on ahead, a little more confident now. Sudden realisation struck her as she remembered just what lay ahead of this track. "Ringo!" she called after him in alarm as she hurried after him. "Watch out for the…"

But her last word went unheard as Ringo's cries of surprise and pain echoed back to Dash and the shadowy figure vanished from sight. Barely half a second later, she heard a sickening thud and a second moan of agony. Her heart pounding a mile a minute in her chest, she realised that he had been hurt. "…cliff," she finished in an inaudible mumble as she raced over, careful to stop at the cliff's edge.

Shining her torch downwards, she quickly found Ringo. He was sitting upright about a metre below, his torch lying just within arm's reach and his hands clasped tightly around his ankle. His eyes were closed tightly and his lips pressed hard together. He was in agony, but doing his very best to pretend he wasn't. He looked up at the sudden light, squinting against it.

"You right, mate?" Dash asked, crouching down at the cliff's edge. Seeing the genuine concern written in her face, Ringo softened his expression.

"I think I've sprained my ankle," he told her, his voice wavering with the pain. Frowning, he snatched up his torch and cast the stream of light around him in curiosity. His brow furrowed ever deeper as the light fell upon a large black lump which appeared to be a garbage bag. "What's that?"

Dash's eyes narrowed in bewilderment as she turned her torch to the bag. Barely seconds later, she was carefully climbing down the cliff face, ignoring Ringo's pleas for her not to. As soon as she reached the bottom, she headed over to the bag which lay just out of arm's reach of Ringo. She yanked it open and almost stumbled back in surprise when she realised what was inside. There were two sawn-off shotguns lying atop of money, jewellery, paintings – in fact, it appeared the bag contained anything that the owners could have gotten their hands on. "It's the Widgeree pub robber's loot," Dash told Ringo as she tied the bag shut again and combed hair back from her eyes thoughtfully.

"We need to radio Sir," Ringo told her, fumbling at his belt for his portable. He ignoring the puzzled stare that Dash was shooting him, her expression blank as she tried to realise just who Ringo meant by 'Sir'. Finally, she realised that he was talking about Mark.

She shook her head. "Nah, don't bother," she told him as she sat down beside him, resting her back up against the rocky cliff face. "There's no reception out here. No radio, no phones, no nothing."

Ringo's face grew more desperate at the calm composure that Dash maintained. Why was she sitting down? They'd just found an armed robber's loot and his superior officer was just sitting there! "We need to get this back to the station, then," he pointed out in frustration.

Dash seemed amused at the hint of anxiety in his voice. For the first time in his life, Ringo was cursing a superior officer, even if only inwardly. "We won't even get as far as the nearest tree with your ankle," she pointed out calmly. "I can't carry your weight. Besides, we can always be here waiting for them when they return to collect their loot."

The younger officer was still thoroughly confused, and perhaps a little outraged at Dash's decision. This wasn't protocol, he was certain. He was beginning to wonder if Mt. Thomas even knew the meaning of the word. They were good coppers, yes, and as straight as they came, but they were a little apt to bending the rules when it suited them. He wasn't quite sure if he approved of that. But he knew better than to argue. If there was one thing his father had made damn sure he'd learnt, it was that you didn't argue with rank. Never argue with superiority.

"So," Dash began, intertwining her fingers behind her head, "you mentioned siblings before that were named after the Beatles…"

Ringo turned to stare at her, becoming distinctly uncomfortable at the mention of his siblings. He didn't want to tell Dash about them, but he knew he couldn't hide them from her. "Yeah," he mumbled in reluctant agreement. "Johnny, Georgia and Paul." He paused, the last name almost being lost in a teary gulp. He couldn't cry, there was no way he could let himself cry. "They all joined the coppers. Johnny's with Homicide, Georgia's the youngest female Senior Sergeant in the state and…Paul is…well, he's…"

Sensing Ringo's distress, Dash found herself reaching a very definite conclusion. "Dead?" she offered with a sympathetic shrug. He turned to her in surprise and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he replied with a heavy sigh that betrayed all the sadness that he was trying to hide from his eyes. "He died in his second year in the job. He was shot trying to protect a group of hostages in a bank siege. He was the third youngest of us. He was the only one anywhere near me in age."

Dash nodded sympathetically as she drew her knees up to her chest. "How old are the other two?" she queried.

"Johnny's turning thirty-six this year," Ringo explained with a kind of half-smile. "Georgia turned twenty-nine early last month. If Paul hadn't been shot, he would have been twenty-five this year." He sighed dismally, clasping at his ankle tighter to try to numb the pain that was swelling inside of him.

"That's a bit of an age difference," she observed, staring at him with a distant kind of expression on her face.

Ringo nodded. "Yeah," he realised as his half-smile faded. "They were always going to have four kids, but Johnny happened a bit early. They saved the last three until they were ready." Frowning, he let his chin rest dejectedly on his knee. "Johnny was the jock of the family. The favourite. Never a question about how good a copper he'd be, he was practically worshipped just for breathing. And Georgia…she was just as athletic, she preferred footy to dolls. Neither of them had much time for books. Paul and I weren't as athletic. Paul still played footy, mind you, but he didn't enjoy it. He was really into the humanities. If it wasn't for the expectation that we'd all become coppers, he would have made a good social worker."

"And what about you?"

"I…I guess I just lived for science. I was good at hockey, but it wasn't something Dad liked very much. He didn't understand anything other than footy and the police force. I don't think he could understand me…I guess that's why I had to work about four times as hard as the others to get any kind of reaction out of him." He turned to Dash almost pleadingly, little tears forming in his eyes. "He didn't even come to my bloody high school graduation," he confided in a distraught whisper. "He was there when I graduated from the academy, but he wasn't there when I got the award for being DUX of the school. He wasn't there when I got the biggest bloody honour I've ever had. But he was there when Johnny won best and fairest in the under-18s and when Georgia was accepted into the AIS and…and…and I can't believe I've just told you all that!"

Dash tried not to laugh at the bright red blush of embarrassment that filled Ringo's face. He had clearly not been thinking about what he'd been saying and had confided much more than he had wanted to. But, instead of laughing, she wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to her chest. It seemed to soothe him. "What about your mother?" she queried gently. "Where was she in all this?"

Ringo closed his eyes momentarily, desperately trying to force back the tears that wanted to overwhelm him. "She was shot and killed in the line of duty when I was six months old."

"I'm sorry," Dash whispered, a little stunned. She should have guessed, she realised as she kicked herself inwardly. Ringo hadn't once mentioned his mother and she should have guessed that she was dead. "I didn't know my dad, either," she told him, hoping to maybe calm him with a story or two of her own. "He was killed in a tractor accident when I was two years old. He was working out in the field when it rolled. He died instantly."

Ringo didn't reply to this. Instead, he pulled away from Dash's sympathetic hold and fixed her with a curious gaze. He was silently pleading with her for more information.

"Mum had her hands full. She had nine kids to look after," she continued. "The oldest, Charlie, was twenty. He had been about to go off to the city for work, but he decided to stick around and run the farm. I was really close to Mum and Charlie. The others were my playmates but…they all grew up and left and got their own lives. They all kept calling me Deidre, even after Charlie gave me the nickname Dash. Charlie's always been a bit like a big brother and father all rolled into one. He still lives here, with his two daughters. He's even baby-sitting my little girl, Phoebe, right now."

Ringo didn't ask about Phoebe and he didn't ask about Charlie. Instead, he directed his questioning in the one direction that Dash had hoped he wouldn't. "What about your other seven siblings?" he asked her curiously. "And your mum?"

Sighing resignedly, Dash felt a couple of stray tears sliding down her cheeks. "They died," she told him simply. "Mum was hit by a car nearly ten years ago and…and my other brothers and sisters were killed in accidents and by illness. It's just Charlie and me now. And our kids."

Ringo opened his mouth to offer her some sympathy, but never got the chance for the sound of footsteps came from the cliff top above them. The two shared a knowing glance as they reached down to their belts and drew out their guns. Raising them to the cliff's edge, they found themselves aiming at two large male figures. The pair was shocked by the sight of the police officers – one standing in the standard police stance and the other still sitting, wincing with pain. But neither man made any attempt to run. Raising their arms skyward, they knew they were gone.

"You're under arrest," Dash told them as she holstered her weapon and began clambering up the cliff face while Ringo kept his aim steady. His first arrest.

* * *

Sitting behind the wheel of Chris' car, PJ couldn't help but feel a little edgy. He hadn't slept at all that night and he knew that Amy had been just as awake beside him. She sat beside him in the vehicle, biting her bottom lip absentmindedly as she stared fretfully out the passenger side window. The bags under her eyes were evident and her face almost devoid of colour. He knew how frightened she was of Warren Kane, even if the man was now in his seventies. One brush with the organised crime of Lloyd Johnson had been enough to make her fear it intensely.

In the back seat, Mark sat beside Piper, clasping her hand tightly in his lap. So tight, in fact, that PJ was certain that he was cutting off circulation. But Piper didn't seem to mind. If anything, she was relishing the contact.

PJ had told them not to take the same car twice and, deciding that his car was too familiar to the crooks of Mt. Thomas and Amy's Vee Dub too distinctive, he'd opted to borrow Chris'. And, chuckling at the lack of explanation from PJ, Chris had agreed. She'd been pretty easy-going with lending her car to coppers in the past and PJ was one of her oldest mates. As far as she could see, it couldn't do any harm. The comment had almost made PJ vomit at the thought of what harm it could do.

He began to tap the steering wheel impatiently, suddenly wishing that he didn't have to obey the speed signs. He wished desperately for his flashing blue light which would give him permission to make the trip back to the station from the old Anderson place go faster, but he knew that he couldn't use it even if he had it. It would be like handing Piper to Warren Kane on a silver platter.

Out of the corner of his eye, PJ saw Amy lean forward to turn on the radio. Much to her frustration, they were out of range and could only pick up static. But, while Amy was bent over adjusting the radio, a bullet smashed through the window, passing right where her head would have been.

The sound of the gunshot and smashing glass stunned the group and PJ, at first a little oblivious to the fact that they were being fired upon, looked around him aimlessly. But the sight of the shattered glass and Amy placing her hands protectively over the back of her head brought the truth sharply to him and he slammed the brakes on hard.

As soon as the car was motionless, he crouched down as best he could, shielding his head with his hands as Amy had. He was vaguely aware of Piper and Mark in the backseat, Mark pushing himself down upon Piper as he covered her with his body. And, from somewhere in the distance beyond the confines of their vehicle, he could have sworn that he heard squealing tyres.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, looking to Amy worriedly. It took mere milliseconds for him to realise how close the bullet had come to hitting her and his stomach gave a sickening lurch. Silent, tiny tears welled in his eyes. "You alright?"

She tentatively raised her head, casting a blank and shell-shocked gaze around her. Little fragments of glass slid from her black jacket as she stirred, her whole body almost aching from the sheer terror. Her mind ran so fast that it was barely processing dim white fuzz. She opened her mouth to reply and, for a long moment, found that she couldn't speak. Finally, a weak and croaky reply left her lips. "Yeah, I'm fine."

PJ returned to sitting, letting himself sink back into the seat before turning his head back slightly towards Mark and Piper, who were still lying low. "You guys still breathing?"

"I think so, yeah," Mark replied, climbing up off Piper as it became increasingly clear that they weren't about to be shot at again.

Nodding to himself, PJ lifted his foot off the brake and cautiously started Chris' car again. "Right," he said, more for his own benefit than the others'. "We go back to the station; I take the car back to Chris and we don't tell the uniforms, got it?" The other members of the car didn't answer or argue with PJ's instructions. Instead, the rest of the trip back to the station passed by in the uneasy silence of those who have stared death in the face and only survived by mere chance.

* * *

Mark and Piper didn't stop to speak to Nick, Dash or Ringo as they passed through the muster room, making a beeline for Mark's office. Mark was still clutching Piper's hand, so tightly in fact that anyone who hadn't already worked out their romantic connection would have drawn a pretty accurate conclusion.

Amy and PJ followed much more slowly and, determined to keep up the appearance of calm composure, stopped at the sight of Ringo hobbling around to the fax machine on crutches. The detectives stopped, a little bewildered. "You've been here for a day and you've already hurt yourself!" PJ observed, shaking his head in numb disbelief. "What have you done to yourself, mate?"

Walking over to the small gathering with a small grin on her face, Dash supplied the answer. "He fell off a cliff last night in the National Park."

"You what?!" PJ demanded, a little angry at the thought of Maggie Doyle's cousin doing something so dangerous. After Ringo had told him about his connection to the Doyles, PJ had vowed silently to make sure that Ringo Barnett didn't end up in the same place as his mother's relatives. He was staying on the straight and narrow and becoming a good copper. And after telling Amy, she'd vowed the same thing.

"I didn't watch where I was going," Ringo explained, his face red and his voice carrying all the embarrassment of a schoolboy being chastised by a teacher. "But we found the Widgeree pub robbers loot and we caught the crims too. They're over in St. Davids lock-up."

PJ's earlier anger disappeared at this and instead a kind of pride was growing. "You caught them?" he asked in disbelief and, at Ringo and Dash's nods, he turned to head to Mark's office. As he walked, he turned to Amy, his glowing eyes meeting hers. "That kid's going to be one hell of an officer someday," he told her and Amy nodded thoughtfully in agreement.

* * *

A lump formed in Amy's throat as she and PJ led Mark over to their office, locking the doors to stop their uniformed colleagues from entering. They'd both long worked out what was going to have to happen to stop Piper from being killed and the shooting that morning had only confirmed it. They hadn't spoken since PJ had dropped the car back to a furious Chris, who moaned loudly about the repair bill, but didn't ask what her car had been used for. She was smart enough to know that if PJ wasn't going to tell her, then there was no point in asking.

"I hope Chris didn't give you too much trouble about the car," Mark told PJ with a half-hearted chuckle that he had hoped would lighten up the heavy frowns on his colleagues' faces. It failed miserably.

PJ sighed as he perched himself on the corner of his desk. "Well, she's vowed never to let the police borrow her car again, but she seems fine about it. I think she understands that something much bigger than a broken window is going on here."

Amy nodded sadly as she digested PJ's comment and tried to calm her still-racing heart as she turned her gaze upon Mark. Her superior was fidgeting and looked distinctly uncomfortable. It was then that she realised he knew. He knew what the only solution available to them was, but could barely admit it to himself, let alone them. She felt sorry for him. "We can't protect Piper, Mark," she finally told him, shrugging sadly as she folded her arms across her chest, pulling her black jacket tighter as she did so. "Warren Kane practically has an army of hit men just waiting for an opportunity like this morning to kill her off. The longer we continue with this charade, the less likely it is that she'll get out of here alive. We only have to let our guard down for half a second, Mark. That's all it'll take…half a second…"

Mark nodded resignedly, burying his face in his hands as he massaged his temples. Desperately, he searched the depths of his mind for another answer, any answer. But nothing came and he numbly realised that it was because there was no other answer. They couldn't protect her forever, not in Mt. Thomas. For as long as Piper Morris continued to exist as an identity, Warren Kane would hang over them like a bad smell. She needed to disappear and Witness Protection was their only option. "I know," he told them weakly, peering out from between his fingers. "I just…I can't let her go. I let her walk out of my life thirty-five years ago and I can't do that again. My life's just an illusion of happiness, of perfection. I love her."

His confession struck a chord in Amy and PJ and, absentmindedly, they reached for each other's hand. "I spoke to a mate of mine about this yesterday," PJ explained gently. "He's familiar with it, he can get it organised quickly. If I get onto him now, she can get out of here today." He paused, shrugging weakly. "It might be easier if you break the news to Piper. She's probably already worked it out herself."

"I…I want to go with her." Mark told them firmly, pressing his tightly clenched fists into the pockets of his police pants. It was the only way he could stop them from shaking with a mixture of fear and dread. "If…If Piper goes into Witness Protection, then I'm going with her."

Amy frowned, sharing a concerned glance with PJ. The dark look in his eyes said it all. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Mark," she told him sadly. "I mean…"

"I know what it'd involve and I don't care," Mark interrupted, staring across his colleagues with a hard expression upon his face. "I just…I just know that I want to be with her."

PJ slipped his hand free of Amy's as he crossed the office to his superior, offering his a supportive hand upon his shoulder. "Mate, what about Penny?" he asked him quietly. "Surely you can't just leave her?"

Mark laughed weakly at PJ's comment, shaking his head slowly. "Penny means nothing to me, PJ," he told him sadly. "She's…she's been having an affair for over a year and I've just been looking the other way because I didn't want her to find out about Piper. She'd probably be happier to see the back of me."

"Then…then what about Freya?" PJ queried, meeting Mark's eyes with a kind of sympathy that Mark knew was born of experience. He knew that PJ had been faced with this situation before – the choice of letting someone he loved go into Witness Protection and the question of whether or not to follow. "Whatever you feel about Penny…surely you couldn't do this to Freya? Could you live with yourself, knowing that your daughter thinks you've run away with you boss to Melbourne, never to contact her again? Or if she thought you were dead, even when you were alive and well? Could you really spend the rest of your life without your daughter?"

Mark's face paled at the mention of his daughter's name. He hadn't thought much of what following Piper into Witness Protection would mean for Freya. He couldn't have cared about Penny, in fact, she'd probably be happy to see him go, but Freya was different. His little girl, his princess. He loved her more than he had ever loved anything before, perhaps even more so than Piper. PJ was right; he couldn't do that to Freya. He shook his head reluctantly. "I can't let Freya think those things," he admittedly in a shaking, teary voice. "I've got to let Piper go alone. Freya's more important."

* * *

PJ had called Witness Protection and they'd agreed that Piper's only option was permanent protection. For all intents and purposes, Piper Morris would disappear off the face of the planet after accepting a posting in Melbourne. But, in actuality, Piper would be whisked far away from Warren Kane and PJ's suspicions led him to believe that they might even take her overseas. And, while it hurt Mark intensely to let Piper go, he knew that he loved her enough to not want to keep her somewhere where she could be hurt. He loved her enough to know when to let her go.

Evening had fallen across Mt. Thomas, blanketing the town in a cool darkness. It was going to be another cool night, Mark was certain. And a late night, with Piper being picked up with the Witness boys at eleven. Mark knew that he'd very possibly get home to find Penny in bed with the same man who had left his wallet behind. But he couldn't think of that. No, better to think of his little girl, his Freya. Letting Piper go didn't feel so hard when he thought of his beautiful daughter.

For the first time since yesterday, he had the office to himself. Piper was back in St. Davids with Amy and PJ, packing a few things. They'd decided to protect themselves with the public this time, opting for a bus rather than a car. At least, they had reasoned, if anything happened, they had witnesses to testify.

A soft and cautious knock sounded at his door and Mark's head snapped up instinctively at the sudden noise. The station had been silent, with Nick and Dash now getting Ringo drunk at the Imperial. He had become too accustomed to the quiet. "Come in," he called, realising that it was Piper peering through the glass pane.

Piper entered slowly, her hands clasped together in front of her stomach. Despite her haphazard appearance and blotchy skin and red eyes from crying, she still looked beautiful. Mark couldn't help a smile as he rose to his feet, crossing the room to her as she closed the door behind her. She clutched a small black overnight bag in her hands. "This is all they'll let me take," she explained at the puzzled look upon Mark's face. "If I take much more, it'll make me too easy to trace."

Mark nodded understandingly as he reached out, running his hands along her shoulders and down to her wrists. It was a soothing gesture and one that eased the pounding of Piper's heart slightly. But part of her hated him touching her, fearing that it would simply make her cry all over again. "We wasted so much time," he told her sadly, letting his fingertips graze the backs of her hands. They were so soft, even to his well-worn skin. He closed his eyes momentarily, as if trying to commit every sensation to memory. "We should have built our lives together. We should have had it all."

"We could have had it all," Piper conceded dismally, pulling away weakly from Mark's touch. It was about to bring her tears and she simply refused to let herself go to pieces now. "I didn't give you the credit you deserved. I thought you'd be like everyone else, but you weren't. You would have understood. I should have let you love me."

"It wasn't entirely your fault," he told her firmly, looking up to her with regret shining in his eyes. "I didn't take the rumours seriously. I had you on a pedestal and…and it made me blind. If I had have opened my eyes, I would have seen the truth and not just what I wanted to believe. I would have loved you even more."

Mark's words made Piper's heart flutter in her chest until she finally had to look away to stop herself from kissing him. She wanted him now more than she ever had, yet this was the one time she couldn't have him. It would only destroy every bit of the conviction that she had built up.

"I…I…" Mark sighed in frustration as the words refused to come. "This has all happened to us so fast that I…I guess I haven't really worked out how I feel about this or…or what it is I wanted to say…"

Piper frowned at Mark's comments, before shrugging weakly. "Well," she told him slowly. "I suppose I could ask Witness Protection to give me a couple more days, at least…"

"No," Mark told her firmly, grabbing her wrists again as he held them close to his chest. Piper stared at him in confusion, feeling bewildered at his change of heart. He didn't want her to go, but here he was telling her that she couldn't stay. "If you gave me more time, I'd only use it to find a way to make you stay. I can't do that to you. I love you enough to know that it's time to let you go."

Little tears filled her eyes as she let his words roll around her dazed and weary head. She wanted to throw herself upon him and cry until there simply wasn't a tear left, but she didn't. She couldn't. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully and spoke almost without thinking. "I love you enough to know that I've got to let you be with your daughter."

* * *

The car park was dark and the dim overhead lighting did little to light the surroundings as PJ pulled his car to a stop. Somehow, Warren Kane hadn't worked out what was going on and hadn't sent some of his men out to eliminate Piper. In a way, he was relieved. This was the final hurdle. Once Piper was in the hands of Witness Protection, it was over. She would be gone forever and there would be nothing Warren Kane could do to get at her.

From where she sat beside PJ, Amy could just make out the dimly-lit figures ahead. They were large men, perhaps even to rival Nick in height, and stood beside two vehicles. They were fairly ordinary vehicles, she realised, despite knowing very little about cars. They were the kind of cars that she wouldn't give a second thought to if she passed them on the road. Perfect disguises.

She and PJ climbed out of the car and headed over to the men. One of them beamed at the sight of PJ. "Mate," he told her, offering a hand which PJ quite happily accepted. "Is this the fiancée? Because I have to say, you've still got it if she is!"

Amy frowned, her indignation swelling as this old 'mate' of PJ's spoke about her as though she wasn't there. But, much to her relief, PJ reached over and squeezed her hand encouragingly. The gesture told her more than words ever could have. This 'mate' was a sexist pig, but he was good at what he did and would get Piper to safety. And, for that, Amy forgave him and offered him a half-hearted smile before turning back to Mark and Piper.

The pair had climbed out of the car and still clung to each other's sides as they approached the gathering. The other man who didn't seem to know PJ motioned to one of the Witness vehicles silently. And, as Piper moved towards the vehicle, it finally seemed to strike her what this meant.

She turned back to Amy, PJ and Mark, offering them a hint of a smile. The smile, coupled with Piper's more relaxed hairstyle, took Amy by surprise. If life hadn't hardened Piper like it had, she would have been a very beautiful woman, even in middle age. And the thought saddened Amy. In Piper's eyes, she could see a world of possibilities that had never been realised. And, suddenly, Amy wished that she'd gotten to know Piper a lot better than she had.

"Thank you," Piper told them, clutching at her bag so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. "Thanks for everything. I treated you all like shit and…and I'm sorry for that."

At Amy and PJ's mumble of good luck, Piper turned her attention to Mark. He stood alone, his hands thrust deep into his pockets as he tried desperately to keep them from trembling. He kept his head down as she approached him, despite eyeing her intensely, as though he was trying to keep the mental image of her in his head forever. He was building a lifetime of memories in just a few short minutes.

His head finally snapped up as she reached up to his cheek, cupping his face in her hands. The gesture forced him to meet her gaze and every little bit of the resolution he had formed began to crumble. He had vowed not to kiss her, but he couldn't keep that promise. Slowly and without thinking, their lips connected, the embrace being more than enough to whisk them away from reality and into their own little world. Every emotion that either of them had ever felt flowed through the kiss as Mark let his hands rest upon the seductive curves of her hips. It took all the self-control he could muster to finally pull away, letting his hands rest upon her shoulders as he took in the little glimmer in Piper's eyes.

From somewhere nearby, Mark was vaguely aware of PJ's mate from Witness Protection clearing his throat with such self-importance that it made the rest of the gathering wince. "So, anything else you two love birds want to get over and done with?"

Piper turned back to Mark, offering him a reassuring smile. It was a kind smile, the likes of which Mark hadn't seen upon her face since those long, loving days at the academy. Her eyes soothed him somewhat, telling him that the pain would go away and that everything would be fine without her. Still not tearing her gaze away from him, she shook her head slowly. "No," she replied quietly. "I think we've said everything that we wanted to say."

Mark nodded in agreement as he finally withdrew his hands from her shoulders, letting Piper head over to the Witness Protection cars. She disappeared inside and, without another word; the two men began to drive away. He craned his neck for one last look and, much to his excitement; he saw a glimpse of her as she waved goodbye.

And, as it struck him that she was now gone forever, the tears that he had fought to contain began to slide down his cheeks as great choking sobs consumed him.

* * *

The house was silent as Mark closed the solid oak door behind him, the dim light from the kitchen seeping out and bathing him in its glow. Barely remembering Penny's obsession with a clean carpet, he slipped his work boots off his aching feet and crept across the living room. He had half-hoped that Penny would be waiting up for him; ready to reprimand him for not ringing her. She used to do that a lot, he realised with a smile as his raw red eyes began to water. Even a couple of years ago, she would have worried about him. Now, she didn't even care.

The kitchen bench was clean, save for a single folded slip of paper which bore his name in a hurriedly drawn scribble. Yet it was somehow very neat and clearly Penny's handwriting. He grabbed it eagerly and unfolded it, some naïve part of him wondering if Penny had been so romantic as to leave him a love note. In hindsight, he almost laughed at the thought.

Just seconds later, he folded the note again, his face bearing a hardened expression of resignation. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, he wanted to cry out at the top of his lungs that this was all unfair and demand that he get some good luck for a change. But he knew it would serve nothing except to wake up Freya, who had probably cried herself to sleep if Penny had told her anything about this. Penny had finally taken the leap – Mark had chosen the job over her one too many times and she had walked out. She'd be back tomorrow for the rest of her things and divorce proceedings would follow. And, if Mark needed his opinion of her lowered any further, than she had succeeded. She didn't care about Freya. She could stay with him, for all she cared.

After several heavy breaths, he set the note back on the bench and turned to the fridge for something to eat. Numbly, he realised that he hadn't eaten since that morning and his stomach was rumbling in protest at the lack of food. There wasn't really much in the fridge to eat, he realised sadly. Just the basics and some left-over pizza. He made a mental note to go shopping tomorrow as he stuffed the container in the microwave and set the timer.

He slipped down the hallway, his bare feet padding along the soft carpet. Perhaps Penny's pedantic neatness had served a purpose, he told himself with a half-smile. She'd left two things behind for him – clean carpet and a beautiful daughter.

Freya's bedroom door was open and a warm orange glow emanated from the overhead lamp on her bedside table. The teenager was lying under the covers, her hand resting atop of an open book. The light highlighted the wet streaks on her face and the paleness of her skin. She had cried herself to sleep, Mark realised with a pang. Penny walking out had upset her and she tried to read to ease her devastation. For a brief moment, Mark felt a furious rage swell within him at the thought of anyone hurting his princess like that. But the rage passed and he stepped into the room, crouching down at Freya's bedside.

He combed the fine strands of her silky black hair back from her face, smiling as he took in her sleeping form. Time had flown from the day that he had held his infant daughter, cooing over her tiny form as she slept. The memory made his decision not to go with Piper feel right, no matter how much it hurt him. PJ had been correct. Freya did matter more to him than Piper.

Mark gently lifted her hand from the book and carefully slipped a nearby piece of paper inside to mark Freya's page. Setting it aside on her desk, he switched off the overhead lamp as he bent down to kiss her cheek softly. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

* * *

Amy had barely gotten through the front door of their home when PJ slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to his chest. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling quite content to bury her face in his old leather jacket as his hands ran tenderly along her back. His touch was soothing and eased her frazzled nerves after the events of the last two days. And then there was Zoe's diagnosis, which she had managed to force so far into the back of her mind that she'd very nearly forgotten in the adrenaline rush of getting Piper to safety. She was going to have to tell him sooner or later, no matter how much she didn't want to break his heart. She loved him and he loved her and she owed him the truth.

Her thoughts were interrupted as PJ spoke, his voice soft and betraying the fact that he was close to tears of exhaustion. "I love you so much, Amy," he told her gently, every syllable weighted with such honesty that it almost made Amy want to cry. "I'll never know what it was that I did to deserve you, but I know that I love you. Every second I have you in my arms, my heart swells so much with happiness that I almost think it will burst. I treasure every minute of every day that I wake up with you in my arms. And if the last couple of days have taught my anything, it's that I never, ever want to let you go."

The tears slipped down Amy's cheek silently, the reaction so natural that she scarcely realised it was happening. She lifted her head from his shoulder, meeting his gaze with all the strength she could muster. His tender, wise eyes were filled with tears that he barely held back. And as she stared up at him, she raised her hands to his cheeks. The touch made her words seem even more real. "I would never want to let you go," she whispered, letting her fingertips travel from PJ's cheekbone to his lips. They were soft and made her skin tingle with excitement. "If I…if I ever had to go into Witness Protection, I'd want you to come with me."

PJ paused, a little taken aback by her comment. He frowned at her bewilderedly as Amy drew her fingertips away from his lips. "Are you sure?" he asked her quietly, earning a firm nod in response.

"Yes," she replied, nodding to emphasise her point. "If I ever had to start my life over, I'd want to start it with you." She let a half-smile draw across her face, highlighting her features with a kind of hopeful sadness. "I had so many plans for life, so many dreams but…you're the only dream I've ever had that didn't die in the face of reality."

The tenderness and honesty of Amy's words stunned PJ as his heart fluttered in his chest. He let his hands drift up from Amy's waist and began to play with the messy strands of hair that framed her beautiful face. Finally he smiled, leaning in to kiss her tenderly. Moments later he pulled away, still grinning broadly. "There's plenty of time for dreams," he told her gently. "Dreams we'll make together."

She nodded slowly, before her smile began to fade. She had to tell him. No matter what burden it put on PJ, he deserved the truth. He had given her more love, kindness and friendship than she had ever thought possible. Honesty was the least she could offer him. "My hospital appointment yesterday," she began, her heart pounding increasingly faster in her chest as PJ's brow furrowed in curiosity at where she was going. "I…I lied. I don't have the flu."

"I didn't think so," he whispered, nodding thoughtfully as he let his hands slip back down to her waist. The blank expression on his face made Amy feel almost sick to her stomach. She suddenly wished that she didn't have to tell him. She knew she had made the right decision in regard to Zoe's diagnosis, but telling PJ that was a whole different matter.

"I…well, I…since the miscarriage…" Amy suddenly stopped, realising that she was getting nowhere very quickly. Every sentence sounded so perfectly crafted in her head, but she changed her mind as soon as a few syllables left her lips. She pressed her lips together tightly and closed her eyes momentarily as she tried to formulate the words in her mind. Finally, she decided to be blunt. She peered up at him sadly as she opened her eyes. "My periods didn't come back after the miscarriage," she told him dismally, waiting for a reaction. But PJ didn't react. Instead, his curiosity deepened. "I…I knew I wasn't pregnant, so I went back to Zoe and…she diagnosed Asherman's syndrome yesterday."

PJ's eyes widened as Amy finished, his mind blank. But, deep inside, he could feel himself wondering why Amy seemed so frightened of telling him. He couldn't quite understand why she seemed so uneasy. "The scar tissue has returned?"

Amy nodded as she sighed regretfully. "It's practically destroyed my uterus," she continued, her voice growing ever weaker as she spoke. "Zoe…well, she said that even if they removed the scar tissue, the chances of conceiving and carrying to term are basically non-existent. She wanted to try to remove the scar tissue anyway, but I told her no. I've been through it before and…God, PJ; it was scarcely more bearable than the abortion! I…I can't go through it again. And, besides…I don't think I want children anymore, anyway."

PJ nodded in understanding as he pulled Amy closer to his body, smiling to himself as she grew frustrated. She wanted some kind of reaction, something to tell her whether or not she'd just destroyed his dream of a family. But, when he finally let her move away from his chest, he was smiling weakly. "It's okay," he reassured her gently. "I don't know if I want kids anymore, either."

"You…you mean you're not…upset?" Amy asked him, bewildered by his response. She narrowed her eyes in puzzlement.

"Upset?" he repeated, shaking his head firmly. "I've got the most beautiful girl in the world, I've got my life and I've got great mates. What right do I have to be upset? I mean…I used to think that life was simply about having kids, giving my mum grandchildren, but it's not. Not anymore. My priorities are very different now, Amy, and kids don't matter that much." He paused, remembering Amy's comment just minutes before about dreams and plans. "You're not the only one who's seen their dreams dying in the face of reality."

Amy's eyes widened at this, her expression taking on the appearance of a young child's. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. PJ didn't care about having children. He would have wanted them if she could have had them, but he didn't care anymore. He, like her, had seen too many dreams die to lament lost ones. He was content with what he had. In fact, content didn't seem strong enough a word. He had everything he could want or need.

"Who needs a baby?" he continued with a laugh. "I've got you. I love you so much, Amy Fox. My heart doesn't need a baby to be full."

He kissed her, the tender touch of his lips on hers reassuring her that everything he had told her was the truth. Children or no children, they had each other. And that was about all that mattered to either or them.

* * *

**Next episode... "Everybody's Human"**

A Heeler's life is left hanging in the balance after a horrific car accident, leaving the other officers in shock. Dash is mortified to discover that her daughter's father is in Mt.Thomas and is too busy for his apology.


	2. Ep 22: Everybody's Human

**Episode 22: "Everybody's Human"**

_Lyrics come from "Bubbly" by Colbie Caillat._

Phoebe's cheerful cries met Dash's ears almost like music as she awoke, snuggled deep within the soft violet sheets. Almost instantly, she became aware of the bed rocking around her as a pair of small feet bounced up and down. Laughing tiredly, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she let the small figure of her daughter come into focus. The older Phoebe got, the more gorgeous she became, Dash decided as she opened her arms, inviting the little girl to snuggle close to her body. She kissed the soft forehead tenderly before gently brushing the silky strands of her fringe back from her face. "Good morning, gorgeous," she told her, unable to hold back her grin. Phoebe certainly hadn't come about in quite the way Dash would have wanted, but now she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

"I'm hungry," Phoebe told her, clinging to Dash's pyjama top tightly. "I want breakfast."

"I think Mummy can arrange that," Dash replied as she wrapped one arm around Phoebe and used the other to throw back the blankets. As she did so, her heart suddenly dropped in her chest as she caught sight of her alarm clock. It was late. Very late. She should have been at work half an hour ago and if it wasn't for Mark being such a pushover, she would be in very deep trouble. "Oh shit," she cursed under her breath as she leapt to her feet and returned Phoebe to the floor.

Phoebe's jaw dropped open in horror as she fixed her mother with her wide brown stare. The childhood innocence in her face was almost comical. "Mummy said a bad word!" she exclaimed as she clasped her hands to her lips.

Dash struggled not to laugh. "Yes, Mummy did say a bad word," she explained softly as she crouched down to her daughter's level. "But Mummy's also in a very big hurry and is going to be in very big trouble if she doesn't get to work soon." She ruffled Phoebe's fringe playfully before jumping back up to her full height and launching herself towards her wardrobe. But she scarcely had pulled on her blue shirt when a loud knock sounded at her front door.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance as she tidied herself as best she could and hurried down the hallway, Phoebe at her heels. She didn't bother to check who was behind the door and, in hindsight, she'd regret it. For, standing on her doorstep was the one person she had hoped never to see again.

The man standing before her grinned nervously, his wide brown eyes staring at her with a strange twinkle that she remembered with surprising clarity. Resting in his arms was a large bouquet of yellow flowers wrapped in green cellophane and tied with an oversized pink ribbon. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dash pre-empted him. "Get out," she told him with a scowl. Suddenly, remembering Phoebe was standing just behind her legs, she spun back to her quickly. "Phoebs, why don't you go and get some toys together to play with at Uncle Charlie's?"

Phoebe looked as though she was about to argue with her mother, but quickly changed her mind. She dutifully bounded down the hallway, humming happily to herself. As Dash watched her go, she found herself realising that her little girl was blissfully ignorant of who this man was and just what significant he had to her life. And Dash wasn't about to tell her.

"Dash…" he began, becoming suddenly nervous as the little girl left. Dash knew how uneasy he was, yet she wasn't about to help him. He could flounder in his own embarrassment, for all she cared. He glanced down to the bouquet, before offering them over to her. "These…they're…they're for you."

Dash considered the bouquet for a long moment, before pushing them back to the man before. "I don't want your presents," she replied curtly. "I don't want anything from you. Now leave before I have to call the police…"

She moved to slam the door in his face, but he stepped forward quickly and stuck his foot in the gap. Frowning in frustration, she cast him a wary glance. "Dash," he told her with a shake of his head, "you are the police. Besides, that's not really necessary. I just want to talk…"

"You didn't want to talk over three years ago…why should I want to talk to you now?" she snapped in retort, glaring at him hard. Their eyes met and Dash almost felt the same electricity between them that she had once known so well. She quickly tore her gaze away. "Go away, Adam," she spat coldly.

Adam Cooper stepped forward, his expression growing increasingly desperate. He offered her the flowers for a second time. "I love you, Dash," he told her in a panicky voice. "I need you in my life. I…I've made mistakes and…I love you…"

Dash shook her head firmly. "Too little, too late, Adam," she told him sternly. Just as she went to slam the door again, she heard the phone ring from the table just by the door. Frowning pointedly at Adam, she leapt upon the cordless. Her anger increased when she looked up to see that Adam was still there. "Hello?"

Adam could only watch as Dash's face grew pale. He knew instinctively that whoever was ringing had brought bad news. The horror and fear upon her face was that obvious. He shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot as Dash finally hung up the phone, for a long moment unmoving. "Who was that?" he finally queried.

"My Senior Sergeant," she replied, her voice weak and almost becoming lost in her throat. It took all of her strength to not collapse sobbing against the wall. "There's…there's been a car accident. Two of our officers have been injured." She frowned as she looked up to Adam, finally regaining control of her faculties. "I've got to go," she explained. "I have to get Phoebe ready and get her off to my brother's…"

Adam pulled the flowers close to his chest. For a moment, he moved to offer his assistance to Dash, but quickly changed his mind. He nodded in understanding and stepped back from the doorstep. "Of course," he told her with a nod. "I'll…I guess we'll catch up later, then…"

Frozen with a mixture of horror and longing, Dash nodded sadly. "Yeah," she replied with a half-nod. "Maybe." And, with those words, she closed the door softly, almost collapsing against it as an overwhelming tremble ran through her body. "Damn you, Adam," she mumbled as she buried her face within her hands. "It's been over three years…why did you have to pick today?"

* * *

The scene appeared before Dash almost like a mirage. It took everything she had to swallow down the lump of bile in her throat as she took in the wreck of the CI car, wrapped around an old gum tree that overhung the country highway. Ambulances, fire engines and police cars were parked nearby, while various people wandered around self-importantly in uniforms. As she climbed out of her car, she caught sight of Mark immediately. He was leaning against a tree several metres down the road, massaging his temples tiredly as she jogged over to him. "Mark!"

He looked up to her, feigning a weak smile in an attempt to reassure her. It failed miserably and Mark knew it as he spoke. "They must have been coming around the corner and hit the tree…" Mark waved an arm down the highway to where the car wreck lay. "Accident Investigation think that they've found a second set of skid marks…it looks like they were run off the road, possibly by a semi-trailer…"

Dash didn't honestly care about the second set of skid marks or who had run them off the road. All that mattered to her was that they were alright. "Are PJ and Amy okay?" she asked, her eyes teeming with desperate tears. After a long moment, Mark shrugged.

"The ambos think PJ might just have concussion, but Amy…" he paused, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. "She was having trouble breathing; they said something about a collapsed lung and bleeding from one of her kidneys…" He trailed off as he watched Dash wander away.

She couldn't hear anymore. She had the overwhelming urge to vomit and, collapsing onto all fours, she threw up her breakfast. Mark raced to her side and crouched down beside her, rubbing her back soothingly as Dash tried to fight back the temptation to cry. "I…hate…car accidents," she mumbled, close to hysterics. "I want them to be okay. They have to be okay."

Mark nodded sadly as he cast a dismal glance over to the destroyed CI vehicle. "Yes," he agreed wistfully. "You're not the only one."

* * *

PJ had never felt so helpless. He wanted to be in there with her, holding her hand. His Amy had been so badly injured and he'd known it from the second he'd regained consciousness to see the blood dribbling down her face and hear her raspy breathing. She needed him, yet he was sitting in a cubicle several metres away, Nick Schultz's presence being the only thing keeping him there. He was no physical match for Nick at the best of times, let alone with concussion.

Almost as if he'd read PJ's thoughts, Nick patted his arm reassuringly. "She's in good hands, mate," he told PJ gently. "If anyone can get her through this, it's Zo. Besides, your Amy's a fighter. She isn't going anywhere, I can feel it."

PJ shook his head, yanking his arm away from Nick's grip as he reached up to his forehead to try to wipe the dried blood away from his skin. The simple act of sitting up was making him feel like passing out, but he couldn't lie down and relax. His muscles were tense and his heart pounded a mile a minute in his chest. He couldn't quite convince himself that the few milliseconds of terror before the accident had passed. The image of the tree growing ever closer remained startling clear in his mind, resisting all attempts to dispel it. He knew the terror wouldn't go until he knew that Amy would be fine.

"If she goes," he began, his eyes beginning to darken with a deep kind of sorrow, "everything that means anything in my life will go with her…"

Nick shook his head slowly. "Stop talking like that, Peej," he told him firmly. "She'll be fine. You're just getting ahead of yourself. You're going to end up making yourself sick if you keep going like this."

"I'm going to be sick already," PJ groaned and Nick noticed that his face had suddenly attained a very green quality. In a single motion, Nick grabbed a plastic green bowl from the table beside the hospital bed and offered it to PJ. PJ immediately began throwing up, his body heaving and silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

Nick rubbed PJ's back encouragingly. "See?" he told him pointedly. "What did I tell you? You need to calm down. You're only human, not Superman."

When PJ finally stopped vomiting, he turned his pleading gaze up towards Nick. His cheeks were stained with tears and his face unnaturally pale. He was dizzy and still felt like throwing up – despite the fact that there was nothing left to throw up – but he couldn't think about that. All he could think about was his Amy. "I thought there was nothing left to fight, Nick," he grumbled as he allowed his friend to push him back into the pillows of the bed. "I really thought that things might start looking up. But it's not. It's bloody not…"

"Hey!" Nick told him, shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to force some calm into PJ. "I thought I told you to stop this talk…"

PJ frowned as he raised his hands to his eyes, using his fingertips to massage his temples. In hindsight, it wasn't perhaps the most intelligent idea. The gash on his head hurt more with his touch. "Why does all this crap attract itself to me like I'm a bloody magnet?" he continued, unabated by Nick's words. "I don't need anything else, Nick. I don't need a high rank or the nicest house in town or even kids…just as long as I've got her. She's…she's…" PJ trailed off, becoming frustrated as the words he so desperately sought refused to come. He finally shrugged, remembering what Amy had told him when she'd revealed her Asherman's to him. "She's the only dream I've ever had that didn't die in the face of reality."

PJ's words took Nick aback slightly, and something of Nick's vulnerable streak passed through his piercing blue eyes. Nick understood perfectly what PJ had meant by dreams dying. He'd lost plenty of them himself. His eyes brimming with the beginnings of tears, Nick pulled PJ into a blokey hug. He didn't even try to reassure him. Words wouldn't be enough. Actions would have to suffice.

* * *

Zoe was so distracted as she collected the large yellow folder of X-ray results that she didn't notice the young man beside her until he finally cleared his throat with a self-important loudness that startled her. Her eyes lit up with a momentary alarm, which quickly turned to horror as she recognised the msn beside her. "Adam Cooper?" she demanded as she clasped the folder close to her chest. She narrowed her eyes in puzzlement. "What are…what are you doing here?"

Adam offered her a nervous smile as he hurriedly dug through his backpack, finally retrieving an identification badge attached to a long dark blue lanyard. He offered it to Zoe almost proudly. "I'm your new Nursing Unit Manager."

Zoe opened her mouth to argue, but the evidence was too clear to dispute. The ID badge was clearly legitimate and the honesty in Adam's face was plain. But the thought of Nick's old colleague and an old patient being her new NUM was too much. "Since when have you been a nurse?" she queried as she returned the badge to Adam.

"Going on nine years now," he answered quickly, hanging the lanyard around his neck. "This is my first time as a NUM though. I was working in an A&E department in Richmond and the head of department suggested that I go for the job here…"

She had lost patience. Amy's spinal X-rays in her arms seemed to become heavier as she recalled the emergency in the resus cubicle. She pushed Adam aside with a roughness that surprised him. "I'm sure your life story is very interesting, Adam," she told him curtly, "but I've got a car accident victim who's in a pretty bad way, so I've got to go…"

Adam stared after her, at a loss for what to do. "Is there anything you need me to do?" he asked. Zoe frowned at him distractedly, the beeping of Amy's heart monitors tearing her concentration away from her new colleague.

"Ah…I guess you could take a look at the patient in cubicle three," Zoe told him, gesturing vaguely towards one of the closed curtains. "He's most probably just concussed; he was driving the car that my patient was in. He needs stitches and something for his headache…you reckon you can handle that?"

Adam nodded nervously and, as he dumped his backpack down on a nearby chair, Zoe felt her heart drop in her chest. In her hurry to get back to Amy, she'd plain forgotten about just who she was sending Adam in to treat. She remembered the way Nick had spoken after he'd been told about Adam's sacking. Something told him that PJ and Adam were unlikely to be on good terms, even over ten years after the fact. But she shoved that thought from her mind as she hurried back to Amy, deciding that she'd think about it later when a life wasn't hanging in the balance.

* * *

Adam didn't give the man Zoe had told him to treat a second thought. Not until he opened the curtain, anyway. He didn't even need to think for a moment to remember the names of the two men before him. Though PJ was balder than before and his head covered in dried blood and Nick was only a year or two off going grey, they were definitely the same officers that Adam vividly recalled working beside and joking with. But the grim expressions on their faces grew darker at his appearance and he got the definite impression that there would be no joking here.

"Adzo," Nick mumbled, the name slipping from his lips before he was able to coordinate himself to stop it. He narrowed his eyes as he climbed off PJ's bed, pushing his hands into his pockets to stop them from trembling with anticipation. Part of his anticipation came from his fear for Amy, the other part from fear of what PJ would say to Adam. Personally, Nick had nothing against Adam. He had left town before Adam had been charged and sacked and still had the image of the troubled, yet friendly Constable he had once known. He didn't have the tainted image that PJ had.

PJ's words were dark and cold. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded. Yet, despite the coldness in his voice, his tones were almost vacant. It was as though he had thrown all his energy and emotions into his worry for Amy that he had nothing left over for Adam.

Adam motioned to his ID badge. "I'm the new Nursing Unit Manager," he explained, the hope in his voice quickly fading. He couldn't help but feel a little indignant. Why had Zoe knowingly sent him into the same cubicle as PJ Hasham and Nick Schultz? "I…I went back to uni and studied…"

PJ had stopped listening. Emotion was creeping back into his face as he spoke again, this time on a very different topic. "How's Amy?" he queried.

Shaking his head in confusion, Adam shrugged weakly. He knew that he should be in control, but he couldn't be. Not in the face of his old superiors, anyway. "Who's Amy?" he asked in reply, before his mind kicked into action. Zoe had said that the woman in resus was in the same car as PJ, so logic told him that it had to be this Amy of which PJ spoke. "I don't know," he replied. "Zoe's treating her. I'm here to look at that head of yours."

Adam pulled on his pair of gloves and stepped forward to survey PJ's wound, but the detective turned his head. "If you're a nurse," he began pointedly, "you should be in there saving Amy instead of fixing my cut."

Nick rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Just let the man look at you, Patrick," he told PJ firmly. "You'll be no good to Amy if you're unconscious." Turning to Adam, Nick feigned a half smile. "As you can see, Cooper, PJ hasn't changed. You'd better have a look at that gash."

Reluctantly, PJ allowed Adam to tend to his injury. He even let him stitch the wound closed with a minimum of fuss. When Adam was finished, PJ surveyed him with an almost pleading expression. As Adam cautiously met his gaze, he realised that all of PJ's previous animosity towards him was gone. "Can you find out how Amy is…please?" he added quickly. "I…I need to see her…I need to be there…"

Adam almost felt his heart ache with sympathy. The copper inside him knew that PJ was romantically involved with the woman Zoe was treating. He'd been in love enough times to know how it felt to fear losing someone. He nodded gently in reply. "Of course," he told PJ with a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can find out for you."

And with that, Adam left the cubicle. As soon as Adam was gone, Nick turned to PJ, offering him a raised eyebrow and a disbelieving chuckle. "Adzo as a nurse!" he laughed, shaking his head. "God, Deidre is going to have a fit when she finds out!"

* * *

Adam carefully pulled back the resus cubicle curtains, slipping inside so silently that he went unnoticed by the harried medical staff. They were gathered around a bed where a woman, probably in her early thirties, laid, her eyes closed and a tube running down her throat. A second tube had been inserted into the right side of her chest, a sure sign to Adam that she'd suffered a collapsed lung. She was hooked up to any number of machines which quickly told him that she was in real danger. At the very least, her blood pressure was lower than anyone would have liked, most likely from internal bleeding. Adam couldn't stop the curse from escaping his lips. "Shit."

Zoe spun at the sound of Adam's voice and he noticed the little beads of sweat that ran down her forehead. She looked tired and almost frightened. Adam took a guess that Zoe was good friends with Amy. "She's stable," Zoe explained curtly.

"Stable?" he queried quietly.

"All that means is she's not getting markedly worse," she replied, her stare becoming sympathetic as she watched one of the nearby female nurses wipe some of the dried blood from Amy's pale and lifeless face. She approached Adam slowly. "I suppose you know that she's PJ's fiancée?"

He nodded as he turned to look Amy over once more. She was beautiful, he realised, despite her colourless lips and lifeless limbs. He had been in nursing for long enough to have seen plenty of death, but it still cut him to see young people die. And, although he wasn't really a religious man, he prayed. However much he had cursed PJ in the past, he didn't deserve this. "How badly is she hurt?" Adam asked Zoe quietly.

Zoe turned to look Amy over, sighed dejectedly. "Bad enough," she replied simply. "There doesn't seem to be any spinal cord injuries or broken bones, but she's got a collapsed lung and some bleeding from her right kidney. We're just trying to reinflate her lung before we take her up to theatre. The kidney bleeding seems slow, she won't lose it if we're lucky." She looked up to Adam thoughtfully. "The accident was pretty nasty…she and PJ were lucky to not have died on impact, from what I've heard."

"Yeah…" Adam trailed off, being gesturing back out into the emergency department. "I'd better get back out there," he told her with a nervous laugh. "You know, find my desk…"

She nodded in agreement. "One of the nurses will help you," she explained. As he turned to go, she reached out and slipped her hand around his wrist. It stopped him in his tracks and prompted him to stare up at her in bewilderment. "Welcome to the team, Adam."

Adam nodded and offered her a smile. "Thanks," he replied before disappearing out behind the curtain.

* * *

Ringo yawned tiredly as he sat at Nick's computer, typing up information from a sheet of paper lying on the desk nearby. He had never really had a problem with waking up in the morning when he was living at home, but since he'd moved into the Imperial, he was starting to enjoy sleeping in. Chris Riley's pub felt more like home than home ever had. He enjoyed being able to chat with her every evening and knowing that she was hanging on his every word. He'd never been able to have that effect on anyone before.

All in all, he supposed he quite liked Mt. Thomas. For a friend of someone who his father had labelled a criminal, PJ Hasham was a very nice guy. And Ringo supposed that one day, he'd give in and let PJ talk to him about his mother's family. But for now, he was happy to just let that sleeping dog lie happily in its kennel.

He was disturbed from his thoughts as a face appeared behind his shoulder and a thoughtful voice piped up quietly. "I suppose this is the Accident Investigation report?"

Ringo spun to see Mark standing behind him, hands resting serenely in the pockets of his police pants. He liked Mark very much. He was probably the closest thing in the station to the by-the-book officers he had been reared around and was the only one who didn't make jokes at his expense. He nodded in reply. "Yes, Sir," he answered, nodding resolutely.

Mark seemed to think over Ringo's reply for a long moment, before shaking his head. "Don't call me Sir, Ringo," he told him firmly. "I'm not your school principal or your academy instructors. Just call me Mark. We're all adults here, first names will suffice."

Ringo considered Mark's words, before shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he apologised with a thoughtful shrug. "I can't do that. It just…it seems too…disrespectful."

Mark chuckled lightly as he pulled Dash's office chair over to the desk where Ringo sat. "No one's ever said that to me before," he told him with a smile. Leaning back into the office chair, he frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose…I suppose you could call me Boss."

"Boss?" Ringo queried with narrowed eyes. "Didn't you say that…that tradition died with the last Senior Sergeant?"

Nodding, Mark laughed. "Yes," he replied slowly. "Yes, I suppose I did say that…well, let's just say that old traditions die hard." Mark paused, before continuing. "So, you think you can manage Boss?"

Ringo nodded quickly. If Sir had seemed too formal, then Boss seemed just right. He didn't know quite how his other colleagues would take it since he knew enough to know that they'd all been rather close to the last Senior Sergeant, but he dismissed that thought from his mind as Mark began to study the report.

"So it was a semi-trailer…" Mark observed, frowning to himself. Ringo nodded quickly in reply.

"The second set of skid marks appear to have been left by tyres most commonly seen on semi-trailers," he explained as he cast his eyes across the scribbled notes that Accident Investigation Squad had given him. "They're pretty sure that the vehicle would have suffered some front-end damage, probably to the right-hand side. The CI car had some damage to the rear; the semi-trailer probably has some of the paint on it too."

Mark nodded thoughtfully as he reached out, taking the sheet of paper from Ringo. He squinted slightly, cursing himself and his poor eyesight. Age was beginning to have its effect upon him and his long-sightedness was getting progressively worse. "And a broken headlight," he added as he finally handed the sheet back to his junior officer. "I assume that Accident Investigation has road blocks established?"

"Any semi-trailers passing along any of the main highways are being stopped and examined," Ringo replied.

Mark's frown deepened. "The driver could have gotten the vehicle to a mechanic by now," he mused, his expression growing increasingly hopeless. "The damage might be gone by the time the driver passes one of the road blocks." Pausing momentarily, Mark finally looked up to Ringo. "Has PJ been questioned yet?" he asked, a hint of fear creeping into his voice. Mark cared very much about the fate of his detectives, Ringo knew that much.

He shook his head in reply. "No," he admitted quietly. "The Sarge is with him, but apparently he can't get much out of him. He's too cut up about Amy. He's got a concussion, anyway. They're keeping him in overnight under observation. Not that he'd probably leave without Amy."

"He adores that girl," Mark told Ringo, a note of sadness playing on his voice. Staring at his boss, Ringo remembered what he'd been told by Chris about Mark's wife walking out. "He once threw himself in front of a bullet to save her. He'd be completely destroyed if she dies."

The story of PJ's shooting sounded vaguely familiar to Ringo, probably as one of the many stories he'd been told while at the academy. He recalled being touched by it then and it still touched him now. The idea that a man could love a woman so completely as to be willing to die for her was a romantic notion that he had thought existed only in the minds of Hollywood directors. Ringo nodded slowly. "I hope she doesn't die," he added quietly, his voice suddenly seeming very small in the empty silence of the muster room. Mark eyed him curiously. "Amy Fox seems like a very good person. Too many good people die needlessly."

Rising to his feet, Mark nodded in agreement with Ringo's words. He was a little surprised by the comment, to say the least. While the comment could easily have been made by anyone, it seemed to have a very strong meaning coming from Ringo's mouth. As he cautiously met the young man's eyes, he knew that Ringo was speaking from experience. For all of Ringo's almost-twenty-one years, he had seen enough death for anyone.

He decided to change the subject. "Dash is in the mess room, on the phone to her brother," Mark explained as he gestured down the nearby corridor. "When she comes back, the two of you can head down to the Imperial and pick up the lunches. While you're there, see if you can get any information on this semi."

"Who from?" Ringo queried as he rose diligently to his feet, grabbing his police cap from the corner of his immaculately tidy desk.

Mark chuckled weakly. "Oh, you know," he told him with a smile. "The usual suspects – Chris Riley, Tony Timms, Celia Donald…Chris should be fine, but just make sure you don't give Tony any ammunition for a newspaper beat-up or Celia any ammunition for gossip, okay?"

Ringo nodded obediently as he grabbed the car keys and waited by the door for Dash to return. "Yes, Si…Boss," he replied, correcting himself with a half-smile. Feeling surprisingly content, Mark returned to his office, closing the door silently behind him as he leant back against it. Although he wasn't quite sure what the others would make of Ringo calling him 'Boss', he got the distinct impression that Tom would like it. He remembered being told once that Boss was an old Mt. Thomas policing tradition and one that Tom had been very fond of.

Besides, some traditions were worth hanging onto.

* * *

Ringo and Dash had barely stepped into the public bar when Chris emerged from her office, racing out to them with her face blotchy and her eyes a shade of red that almost matched her hair. She grabbed their arms, staring up at them pleadingly. From behind the curls of her fringe, she looked desperate and distraught. "PJ and Amy…" she began, almost in hysterics. "Are they…are they okay…"

"PJ will be fine," Ringo reassured her, pulling his wrist free of Chris' grasp and patting her arm soothingly. "He's just got a concussion. They're keeping him in for observation." He paused, noticing the relief that rushed through Chris' face, only to be replaced almost as quickly by deepening concern.

"And Amy…"

Dash drew in a deep breath, pulling away from Chris as she braced herself on the public bar. She was feeling thoroughly drained and worn out after the traumas that the day had brought, even though it had started out so normally. "She's got a collapsed lung," she explained quietly, yet every patron in the bar turned to listen intently. "And probably some bleeding from one of her kidneys as well. There's no word on how she is."

Chris' face paled as she pressed her fingertips to her lips and her eyes widened in shock. Ringo stepped forward urgently, certain that Chris was about to pass out for a moment. But she didn't. Instead, Chris lowered her hands and drew in a deep breath to steady herself. Finally, she nodded slowly. "How did this happen?" she queried softly.

Ringo frowned, not entirely comfortable with the idea of telling her, no matter what Mark had said. No matter how good a friend Chris had been, his academy training still told him not to share this kind of information with non-Victoria Police staff. But Dash didn't share his qualms.

"Let's move into the parlour," she told them in a harsh whisper. Chris and Ringo nodded and followed her into the cosy room, watching as she pulled the doors shut behind them. Dash sighed resignedly. "It looks like it was a semi-trailer," she explained. "We haven't been able to find the truck or the driver, so we don't really know how this happened yet. Accident Investigation think that the driver tried to stop, but that's about all we know."

Remembering Mark's instructions, Ringo cleared his throat to attract Chris' attention. It had the desired effect. "We were wondering if you could keep an eye out for us," he explained. "The semi probably has some front-end damage, so if you see or hear of any semi-trailers needing repair, could you let us know?"

Chris nodded dutifully. "Of…of course," she replied, tears glistening in her clear blue eyes. She suddenly seemed so small, swamped by a situation that made her heart ache, yet she could do nothing to fix. She suddenly had a yearning to be out with Ringo and Dash, investigating the accident and doing something more useful than slowly getting Keith Purvis drunk. "Just…just let me know if you hear anything about Amy…please?" she begged quietly.

Ringo felt tears of his own welling in his eyes. "Sure, Mrs. Riley," he told her with a half-smile. As he turned to leave, he felt Chris' worn yet tender fingers slip around his wrist.

"Don't call me Mrs. Riley," Chris told him firmly. "I'm not married anymore and I'm not your teacher. Please just call me Chris."

Nodding slowly, Ringo let his wrist fall away from Chris' grasp. "Sure…Chris."

As soon as Ringo had gone, Dash moved to follow, only to be stopped by the soft sound of Chris' voice. "Adam's back in town."

Dash froze, closing her eyes tightly as she realised what Chris had said. Chris almost sounded pleased at Adam being back, though she could hardly blame her. Adam and Chris had always been rather close although Dash had never really known why. She had heard rumours about a relationship, but she'd never given them much credence. She counted to ten slowly before turning back to Chris. "I know," she replied in a barely audible voice. "He showed up at my house this morning."

Chris nodded. "He arrived last night," she explained. "He's staying here until he can get something else organised." Pausing, Chris stepped towards Dash tentatively. "He's here permanently, Dash."

Horror flashed through Dash's eyes. When Adam had shown up on her doorstep, she'd assumed that he was merely here temporarily and would leave as soon as she made herself clear. "P…permanently?"

"He's got a job at the hospital…Nursing Unit Manager," Chris clarified. She didn't know for sure why Dash was so mortified, but she was intelligent enough to be able to make an educated guess. "Adam…he's…he's Phoebe's father, isn't he?"

Dash almost passed out in horror. She could almost physically feel her face grow pale and knew that she had tiny tears forming in the corners of her dark brown eyes. She wanted to argue with Chris, to flatly deny it, but she couldn't. She couldn't deny the truth, especially not to Chris. She'd known Chris for most of her life and knew there was no point in lying. Either way, Chris would just ask Adam and he wouldn't even dream of pretending.

"Yes," she confessed quietly, a silent tear slipping down her cheek as she spoke. "Adam is Phoebe's father."

And with that, Dash left, almost forgetting to take the box of lunches with her in her desperate hurry to escape the Imperial before she burst into tears.

* * *

The antiseptic atmosphere of the hospital struck Mark as he hurried along the corridor of the emergency department, desperately trying to calm his racing heart as he sought out PJ and Nick. He knew Nick was still here. He was PJ's best friend and had a very soft spot for Amy. He couldn't be anywhere else.

He finally stopped when he noticed a large figure appearing through a crack between the curtains. Nick Schultz. He hurried over, offering them a kind smile as he pulled the curtains shut noisily behind him. PJ and Nick looked up with a start, staring at him in bewilderment before realisation sprang to their faces. They looked exhausted, Mark decided. What had happened to Amy had had a profound effect on both men.

"How are you feeling?" Mark queried, immediately kicking himself for asking such a stupid question. It should have been pretty bloody obvious how PJ was feeling.

The defeated look stayed with PJ as he spoke. "Like I've been hit by a semi-trailer," he joked grimly, immediately making both Mark and Nick look very ill at ease. A little glimmer of hope strayed into PJ's features. "Please tell me you've heard something about Amy," he mumbled. He grew increasingly frustrated at the sight of Mark's shaking head. He knocked the metal tray sitting next to the bed aside in anger. "No one's telling me a bloody thing!"

Mark stepped forward as Nick grabbed PJ's wrist protectively. It seemed to calm PJ somewhat as the detective's faced paled almost instantly. PJ opened his mouth to say something, but began to retch instead. Nick retrieved the little green bowl from the floor and offered it to PJ just in time. Mark reeled back in horror as Nick shot him a saddened look. It was no wonder that no one could get anything out of him.

"It'll be alright, mate," Nick reassured PJ, rubbing his back as PJ finally stopped vomiting. "You've got to calm down. You're only making yourself sicker with this worry."

PJ nodded slowly as he tentatively fell back into the pillows, letting Nick take the sick bowl out into the corridor to get it cleaned. Now alone with PJ, Mark perched himself on the edge of the bed. "She's in good hands," Mark pointed out kindly. "She'll hang in there."

PJ frowned as he sank further back into the stiff hospital pillows as he folded his arms across his blood stained shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark noticed a folded white gown sitting on a nearby table. "So everyone keeps telling me," PJ grumbled, still looking ghostly pale. The concussion was making him ill and the stress over Amy was only making him worse. Absentmindedly, Mark reached over to close his hand around PJ's. Hot tears found their way to PJ's eyes. "This was not meant to happen, Mark," he confided quietly. "I…I always worry about her. I always will. I know she can look after herself, but I can't help it. I've nearly lost her too many times. I love her. You know what that feels like."

Mark nodded knowingly. Yes, he did know what that felt like.

"The bloody semi came out of nowhere," PJ continued, shaking his head as his mind began playing over the events of that morning. It was almost like a broken record inside his head. "We were laughing, joking about the music for our wedding reception…then…there was this almighty crash from behind us and the car shook so violently that I was surprised we didn't flip. I don't remember thinking of much, just that…I had to get to Amy's hand. I guess I found it, because I remember thinking she was going to cut off the circulation because she was squeezing it so tightly…"

Silent sobs were threatening to overwhelm PJ as he looked away, staring blindly at the closed curtain for a long moment. "The semi crashed into us again," he explained. "Amy was screaming something, I don't even remember what. There was just so much noise…I don't know what the semi was doing, but I just knew I had to get off the road. So I spun the steering wheel and…for a moment, I remember just thinking that it'll all be okay...we were out of danger…then…then…" Gulping, PJ turned back to Mark, his eyes almost pleading with him for some kind of answer to his agonising problems. "Then there was this bloody great tree in front of us. I tried to swerve away, but I wasn't fast enough…I just remember holding Amy's hand and thinking 'whatever happens to me, just save her'."

Mark didn't realise he was crying until his right eye started stinging with the tears. It had been such a natural reaction. PJ's grief was so raw and so intense that Mark's heart almost physically ached under the weight of it. On top of that, it was making him think of Piper and Penny. He shook the thoughts of the two from his mind as he tried to focus back on PJ's problems. He wanted to say something – anything – but nothing seemed quite right. Every possible response seemed too patronising or clichéd.

"It all went black," PJ mumbled, narrowing his eyes as he tried to make sense of the memories that were rushing upon him. "I don't know how long I was out for, but I just remember hearing this breathing sound beside me and…and being so grateful she was still alive. Then I opened my eyes and saw that she wasn't alright. She was barely breathing. There was so much blood…she couldn't open her eyes, Mark. That worried me so much. Amy's always been a light sleeper; a bloody pin drop could wake her up! But I couldn't wake her. All I could do was…keep holding her hand and telling her that she can't leave me." As he turned his gaze back to Mark, he found an embarrassed laugh slipping from his lips. "I'm being a bloody idiot," he told him, shaking his head sadly. "She's the one who's hurt, not me."

"You see," Mark corrected him quickly. "That's where you're wrong. You are hurt. You've got a concussion and you're making yourself even worse. Nick's right, you need to relax before you end up just as bad as Amy."

Mark offered PJ a glass of water which he took with a half-smile. The cool liquid felt strangely pleasant as it graced his parched lips and ran down his raw throat. It made him feel a little less like vomiting, in any case. "Thanks," he said in gratitude. And, with Mark still holding onto his hand soothingly, PJ finally let his eyes close and the hospital sedatives do their work.

* * *

Ringo regarded Dash worriedly as she stepped out into the warm March sunlight, her cheeks pale and her eyes red. Ringo hadn't had a lot of experience with women – his older sister was the only female he had ever really known well – but he could tell that something was very wrong with Dash and it had nothing to do with Amy and PJ. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dash pre-empted him.

"Don't start," she told him firmly. And Ringo obeyed, despite the niggling feeling inside of him, which was telling him that he ought to be pressing the point. The pair walked in silence for a block, until finally Dash spoke up again. "That semi's probably long gone," she mumbled hopelessly.

He eyed her in surprise. He didn't know Dash extremely well, but he knew her well enough to know that she wasn't a quitter. She was the kind of person who clung to even the most hopeless causes, even in the face of complete opposition. Yet here she was, opening proclaiming that the truck used to run her colleagues off the road was a lost cause. He raised his eyebrows. "You think so?"

She nodded curtly. "No mechanic in this town would think to ask where the damage came from," she told him with a strange kind of bitterness ringing in her voice. "And Accident Investigation will give up after a couple of days. It's a waste of time."

Ringo froze. He felt indignation rise within him. "I don't think so," he told her firmly. The conviction with which Ringo spoke startled Dash, causing her to spin to him with raised eyebrows. Under Dash's bewildered stare, he felt nervousness set in. "I…I mean…whoever was driving that truck put our colleagues in hospital and…and they still don't know if Amy's even going to survive and…and…and that makes me bloody angry!" As the last words left his lips, Ringo clapped his hands to his mouth in horror. Had he just raised his voice to a superior officer?

Much to Ringo's relief, Dash's hardened expression softened back to something more normal. She stepped towards him slowly. "Of course it makes me angry," she reassured him quietly. "PJ's one of my oldest friends and Amy…well, she's a nice woman and she's PJ's girl and he doesn't deserve to go through losing another fiancé. I just…I just feel so…helpless." She shrugged dimly. "I don't want the driver to get away anymore than you do, but…I just feel so insignificant and small. Like…like nothing I can do really matters."

Ringo offered Dash a kind smile, one that made her feel a little better. "Of course it matters," he reassured her firmly. "We can't take the chance that it doesn't. We can find that semi and make sure that, if the driver broke the law, they get punished. We can't afford to give up and let that driver keep hurting people."

Dash nodded in agreement with Ringo's words. His hopefulness gave her heart and reminded her a little of herself as a Probationary Constable. She missed those days. They were so much simpler than today. Suddenly, she felt a sob rising in her throat. She was going to cry and end up telling Ringo everything about Adam Cooper, no matter how much she didn't want to. The tears began to fall.

"Dash…" Ringo began, startled by the hot tears running down her cheeks. He looked around uselessly for a long moment, before stepping forward to offer her his old hankie. She took it gratefully. "What's…what's wrong?"

She stared up at him for a long moment, before shaking her head dismally. "Phoebe's father's arrived in town…permanently."

"I gather you aren't on good terms," Ringo told her, gently moving a distraught Dash out of the way of a puzzled pedestrian who was trying to shuffle past them.

"Good terms," Dash laughed weakly. She scoffed at Ringo's words as she shook her head. "That cowardly bastard walked out the moment I told him I was pregnant. I shouldn't have been surprised, he'd let me down before."

Ringo frowned, a little confused. "What did he do?" he queried, as he found himself becoming protective of his colleague in a way he'd never thought possible.

"He used to be a copper," she replied, lowering her voice as another pedestrian shot her a bewildered stare. "We worked together for a couple of years. He was a nice guy and…and he was always trying to make a move on me. Then he married some local girl because he thought he'd gotten her pregnant, but he kissed me the night before his wedding. It turns out it wasn't his kid and she miscarried and tried to kill him…" She paused, chuckling with amusement at the puzzled stare on Ringo's face. "Then my world fell apart, Ringo. I was diagnosed with cancer and he was the one person who was always there for me. Every chemo treatment, every time I was working and thought I was about to vomit on someone…He was always there. No surprise really that we ended up in a relationship."

"What happened?"

Dash eyed Ringo, the amused smile fading from her face. His expression grew just as serious as hers as he realised that this man had done something pretty bad. "He'd bought a rebirthed car," she explained gently. "He didn't know it at first, just thought it was a discount from a mate. But he did find out and didn't tell anyone. He lied to me and…he didn't make me feel safe anymore." She brushed at her tears with Ringo's hankie. "He was sacked and he left town. I left too, a little while later. We met up again though. By that time I'd rejoined the coppers and he was a trained nurse. We just hit it off all over again. It was almost like none of the lies had ever happened. We were just two Constables enjoying ourselves again."

She sighed dejectedly as she handed him back his hankie and tightened her grip on the box of lunches. She tried to laugh off her revelation half-heartedly. "I loved him and wanted a life with him and he just threw that right back in my face." Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, she forced a smile upon her lips. "Now, we'd better get back to the station before Mark starves, eh?"

And with that, she set off again, leaving Ringo wide-eyed and shell-shocked in her wake.

* * *

PJ had barely been asleep for half an hour when the sound of his curtains being opened stirred him awake. He was normally a very heavy sleeper – something that Amy would occasionally tease him about – but now just the slightest sound was enough to disturb him. As his vision came into focus, he found himself faced with Nick Schultz, who was keeping one hand closed tightly on the curtain's pale fabric. "Nick?" he grumbled, pushing himself up tentatively. As he did so, he realised numbly that his headache was considerably less intense. But that realisation didn't stay with him for long as he noticed a bed being wheeled along behind Nick. "Amy…" PJ gasped as he struggled out of bed. "Amy!"

The orderlies pushed the bed stopped as Zoe appeared behind Nick's shoulder, holding out a hand to stop PJ. "I really don't think this is a good idea," she told him firmly, but PJ took no notice. He shoved her into Nick's chest as he pushed past her, almost toppling back in shock at the sight of Amy.

If he'd been horrified the other times he had seen her hospitalised, then this was much worse. There were tubes running everywhere, connecting her to any number of machines which beeped loudly around her. Her face had been cleaned, but he could see the stitches running along her forehead. She had been intubated and a drip injected at the top of her left hand, where a tube carried a steady stream of bright red blood into her body. She looked so pale and sickly that it pained him. "Oh God," he cursed, stepping towards her tentatively, almost as though the sound of his footsteps might kill her.

Though she looked almost lifeless, there was a kind of fear etched across her face. It was almost as though she was reliving the moment that the car had hit the tree over and over again in her mind. As he stood over her, he gently reached down to caress her cheek. It was still soft, he realised with a half-smile. Still the soft, tender skin of the woman he pulled close to him each night. He felt a tear slip down his face, landing silently on the white sheet beneath Amy's body.

Zoe approached him gingerly, a little hesitant to disturb his moment with Amy. She knew that he had been holding on all day for just a glimpse of his beloved fiancé and she felt guilty for having to bring him crashing back to reality. She finally reached out to place a sympathetic hand upon his shoulder. She half-expected PJ to heave himself away, but he almost seemed to revel in her touch. He reached up with his free hand, placing it upon Zoe's. It was his silent way of thanking her for getting Amy this far and his silent apology for his behaviour. And, she realised with a pang, an indication of the amount of faith he was putting in her. He trusted her with the most important thing in his life.

"We've managed to reinflate her lung," she explained, the words almost catching in her throat as she spoke. "And we're transfusing blood, but…she's losing it almost as fast as we can push it through. We're taking her to theatre now to try to repair the damage to her kidney and remove the tube from her chest."

PJ nodded, for a long moment not speaking. He simply gulped as he patted Zoe's hand fondly and looked forlornly across Amy's face. He remembered that morning, the conversation in the car. They'd been bickering about the reception music, he recalled with a tiny trace of a smile. She'd wanted some song by Colbie Caillat, but he'd had to argue. It had been a light-hearted argument, nothing serious. But it was beginning to eat him up just the same.

After a long moment, Zoe cleared her throat and brought PJ back to earth. "We really need to get moving, PJ," she reminded him and he nodded slowly in reply.

"Of…of course," he replied as he bent down over Amy's still frame. He placed his hands on her cheek and let his lips tenderly brush her forehead, careful to avoid the gash. Closing his eyes, he let his head sink forward so that the skin of their foreheads lightly grazed. "I love you," he told her in a tender, gentle whisper that brought tears to the eyes of Nick and Zoe as they watched on. "I love you."

As PJ slowly stepped back, the orderlies began pushing Amy's bed away from him. He let his hand linger upon her cheek until eventually even his fingertips couldn't reach her. He gulped loudly as he watched her go, not even daring himself to blink. Something in the back of his mind kept reminding him that this might be the last time he ever saw her alive and kept him standing there, fixed to the floor, even long after Amy had disappeared from view.

When he did finally allow himself to move, Zoe had disappeared and Nick was sitting on the hospital bed in PJ's cubicle, face buried in his hands. PJ almost wanted to be sick again, but he swallowed it down. He was going to stay strong. Amy had always admired his strength and relied upon it when her own strength failed her. He braced himself against a nearby shelf until he was confident that he wasn't about to throw up for the umpteenth time that day. Drawing in a deep breath, he headed back to his cubicle, desperately clinging onto the memory of her soft, sweet scent and the tender electricity that her touch sent racing through him.

'_Cause every time you hold me in your arms_

_I'm comfortable enough to feel your warmth_

* * *

Night had begun to blanket Mt. Thomas as Mark pulled the patrol car to a stop, frowning at the sight lying a little further down the highway. Any number of marked and unmarked police cars were parked along the road with officers milling around. As Mark climbed out of his vehicle, he found himself feeling a little indignant at the sight of some of the officers laughing. They weren't taking this half as seriously as he would have appreciated them doing and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Whatever had happened to the days of coppers coming together to look after their own?

He closed the distance between himself and the nearest officer – a man only a few years younger than himself who was studying the road intently. Mark comforted himself with this image. At least someone was doing their job properly.

The man's head snapped up as Mark approached, taking in the name on the police badge. Senior Sergeant Harold Thompson. "Ah…" Harold gasped, a little smile spreading across his face at the sight of Mark. "I wondered when we'd be seeing you, Senior Sergeant Jacobs."

Mark nodded in reply as he took Harold's outstretched hand. "Yes, well we've had our hands full in town," he explained as he folded his arms across his dark police jacket. "We're, ah, understaffed at the best of times and with two detectives in hospital…"

Nodding in understanding, Harold turned back to the road. Mark followed his gaze. "We've had a couple of semis go through that we thought might have been the culprit," Harold explained as he slumped back against his four-wheel-drive. "But nothing that matches the damage. Group morale is falling, Senior Sergeant. People are getting slack because they're giving up."

"They can't give up," Mark told him firmly, shaking his head as the image of PJ vomiting with grief returned sharply to his mind. "A man is concussed and a woman could very well lose her life. They're both good coppers, Senior Sergeant Thompson. Good coppers and good friends of mine. They've both given the force a lot during their lives…the least the force can do for them is get results."

Harold sighed dejectedly as he noticed lights heading down the highway towards them. Mark turned his head and couldn't help a smile at the sight. One of the headlights was out and it was on the same side as Accident Investigation had said. He looked up to Harold hopefully, only to notice the exhausted look upon his face as he stepped forward and ordered his men to stop the truck. Harold may still be doing his job here, but he had given up just as much as everyone else.

Mark watched in curiosity as the group of officers pulled the large semi-trailer to a halt. Several took to examining the front of the vehicle, while another two began to order the driver out of the truck. More still examined the load in the rear. His expression remained blank for several minutes, until he heard excited chattering from the officers inspecting the damage at the front of the semi. He felt his heart rise happily in his chest. This must be the vehicle they were looking for, he decided as he jogged over.

Carefully squeezing his way through the increasing crowd, Mark was only vaguely aware of the driver's desperate attempts to convince the officers that he had been nowhere near town at the time of the accident. But, as he finally pushed the last officer aside, he felt his heart sink heavily.

He spun back to the officers with anger in his eyes. "Did any of you read the Accident Investigation report?" he demanded. He received no verbal reply, but recognised the guilt in their faces immediately. They reminded him of students being chastised by a teacher for not completing homework. His anger deepened at their silence. "Did you?!"

Harold stepped forward, grabbing Mark's arm soothingly. "What's the matter?" he queried. Mark stepped aside, motioning to the damaged truck. The semi-trailer was damaged and the headlight was broken, but there was no silver paint. Instead, there was a light green colour and didn't even look recent. The semi had definitely been involved in an accident, but not with the CI car.

"It's the wrong bloody colour!" Mark told them as he stormed off, eyes narrowed in despair with the incompetence of the officers. The silence was still hovering over the gathering as Mark climbed back into his patrol car and set off back to town. His group may be small and a rather motley bunch in all, but at least they had the intelligence to read accident reports properly.

* * *

Ringo yawned tiredly as he intertwined his fingers behind his head. It had been a long day and he was thoroughly exhausted. Dash walked beside him, in a considerably better mood than she had been earlier and even attempting to make jokes. But it was failing miserably. They were heading down to the pub to try to cheer themselves, and most likely Chris as well, up. A strange air of defeat hung around, taunting them with their failure to find the semi-trailer. Amy had been taken to surgery, last time he'd heard, and there was no still no word on whether or not she'd survive.

Finally realising that her jokes weren't helping Ringo or herself whatsoever, Dash looked over to him sadly. She feigned a half-chuckle. "I'm sorry for dumping my emotional crap on you earlier," she apologised quietly.

He turned to her with a start, smiling in reply to her words. She was beautiful, he thought to himself as he admired Dash beneath the dim glow of the street lights. He couldn't understand why a man would ever have run away from her, especially not after getting her pregnant. He'd never had a girlfriend in his life, but he could never imagine ever hurting someone like Dash had been hurt.

"It's okay," he reassured her. "I'm always happy to be used for emotional crap dumping." Ringo's words brought true laughter to Dash's lips and he was amazed at how it lit up her face. He had already started to see Dash like an older sister, even more so than his real older sister. Dash always respected him and listened to him. In fact, everyone in Mt. Thomas did. It wasn't like the city, where he had just been the dork. "Besides," he reminded her as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, "didn't I do the same thing to you on my first night in town?"

Dash laughed again. "Yes," she conceded as her smile broadened, "but you hardly burst into tears in the middle of the street. It'll be all over Mt. Thomas by now. Little Dash McKinley, bawling her eyes out…" She looked over to him and offered him a genuine smile. "That's what I get for coming back to my old home town," she explained. "With the possible exception of PJ Hasham and Amy Fox, I'm everyone's favourite topic for gossip. I think the sewing circle have been playing 'guess who Phoebe McKinley's father is' ever since I came back to town."

Ringo shook his head in disbelief, his grin broadening. He liked Mt. Thomas. Coming here was almost like coming back home. Part of him wondered whether his Doyle side had something to do with that, but he didn't consider that possibility for very long. Something else distracted him.

It was a large semi-trailer parked on the opposite side of the road. As Ringo stopped to stare, Dash realised that he was no longer at her side. She jogged back to him with a confused expression on her face. "Ringo, what's wrong?"

He raised his hand, pointing at the vehicle. "That," he answered, before taking off for the other side of the street, barely remembering to stop to check for traffic. Dash rolled his eyes as he very narrowly missed being hit by an old dented Ford Festiva before following him across.

"Mate," she told him as she finally reached the truck, shaking her head at him. "Look before you cross the road next time!" She would have continued with her rant, but stopped when she realised that Ringo was examining the front-end of the truck intently. "What are you doing?"

He looked up to her with a stupid looking grin on his face. "It's the right damage and the right coloured paint," he explained, causing shock to pass through Dash's face as she crouched down to see for herself.

She had barely confirmed Ringo's observation before she looked up, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of him climbing up the side. She opened her mouth to tell him to get down, only to change her mind. There was a large circle of shattered windscreen just in front of the driver's seat and it didn't take much imagination to realise that it would have been left by someone hitting their head in an accident. The dried blood around the shattered circle confirmed it.

"It's the truck," she gasped as Ringo, finally satisfied with his discovery, jumped back down onto the footpath. He continued to shoot her his grin, until finally Dash began to dig through her pocket for her mobile. "I'd better get onto Mark," she explained. "Whoever the driver is, they've been seriously injured."

While Dash began to speak to Mark on her phone, Ringo stared at the truck in frustration as his grin vanished. He climbed back up to the driver's side door and pulled at it tentatively, not expecting anything to happen. However, much to his disbelief, the door swung open easily. "Doesn't anyone lock their doors around here?" he mumbled as he looked down to Dash, who simply laughed at his words. She was a local and found his city ways amusing.

Ringo cast his gaze around the interior of the truck, only for horror to set in as he noticed the large patches of blood on the seat covers. He cursed under his breath as he climbed inside, searching the glove box desperately for some source of information. He'd spent most of the day wanting to catch the driver just so that they could get revenge for Amy and PJ's accident. But now it finally dawned on him that the truck driver might be as badly hurt as they were.

Finally, his search yielded results. Beneath a number of men's magazines, he found a thick leather wallet. The stitching was frayed and the leather was beginning to crack, but it was nonetheless a wallet. He opened it hurriedly, not quite able to believe his luck. Inside was a driver's licence and, on that, a name. "Leon Wallace," he declared, holding the wallet out so that Dash could see. She hurried over and took it as Ringo handed it down.

A proud smile flashed across her features as she skimmed over the licence, before looking up to Ringo with a grin. "Good work, Ringo," she told him as he closed the truck door and jumped down again, a little disbelieving of their good luck.

* * *

PJ hadn't realised that he'd dozed off until he felt the warm hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. As the hospital corridor came back into focus, he groaned. Someone waking him up meant that something had happened in theatre and, as he looked up to see Adam Cooper's face, he felt a sudden surge of horror rush through his body. He couldn't read Adam's face and that worried him. A million questions leapt over one another so quickly that he could even ask a single one. In the end, all he could manage was a nickname he hadn't used in over ten years. "Adzo…"

Adam nodded as he sat down on the plastic hospital chair beside PJ, his face still oddly blank. PJ was getting frustrated. If his muscles weren't so stiff from the strain of the accident and the nap in the chair, he would have shaken him until Adam told him what had happened. As it was, all he could do was lean in impatiently.

"Is she…is she…" PJ stopped, unable to ask the question for fear of what Adam's answer would be. His imagination was running riot and he half expected to see Zoe coming out any second to tell him that he'd just lost his third fiancée in the space of nine years. But she didn't appear.

Adam looked away momentarily before offering PJ a tentative smile. "She came through surgery as well as could be expected," he explained, watching in amazement as PJ's face suddenly lit up with relief. "The damage to her kidney was pretty nasty, but they were able to stop the bleed. Her lung's been repaired and her vital signs are stable. There's every indication that she'll make a full recovery."

PJ could have kissed Adam with joy. Those two words, 'full recovery', had been all he'd needed to hear. All he'd wanted to hear all day. He buried his face in his hands as a grin spread across his lips. There weren't words to express his relief or his gratitude. Instead, all he could do was grin up at Adam like a Cheshire cat when he finally lowered his hands. "Thank you," he told him, his voice wavering as he tried to suppress the temptation to cry out loud in excitement. He shook his head in disbelief as he stared at Adam. With his worry for Amy now slowly releasing him from its agonising grasp, he could properly consider the fact that Adam Cooper was back in Mt. Thomas and now a nurse. "You seem to be a pretty good nurse," he told him quietly. "Interesting choice of career, though."

Adam chuckled at PJ's words. "Yeah," he agreed with a thoughtful nod. "But I've changed. I'm not the same man who took a swing at Tom or…or who got himself sacked from the police force. I can't prove that to you right now, so you're just going to have to trust me."

"I do trust you," PJ told him with a smile. "You're weren't completely a rotten apple, Adzo. At the core, you were always a good man. You just made some mistakes, that's all. Everybody's human…we all make mistakes."

Adam opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it. If he'd caught PJ at a different time, then he knew that the chances of forgiveness would have been slight. But the PJ Hasham sitting beside him had been through enough during the course of that day to not hold a grudge. In fact, PJ had just complimented him on his nursing skills. In the end, Adam just returned PJ's friendly smile. "Thanks."

PJ stared at Adam thoughtfully for a brief moment, before a new worry set in. As Adam rose to his feet to leave, PJ grabbed his wrist tightly. "Can I see Amy?" he asked, his eyes pleading with Adam. Adam was stunned at this PJ Hasham. So much of PJ's cockiness had disappeared, leaving him a different man to the one he remembered. A much more mature, friendly, gentle man.

"You can see her soon," he promised as he gave PJ's hand a friendly squeeze. "Zoe's just getting her settled. She sent me to let you know so she could assess Amy's post-op condition, but I'm pretty certain that she just wanted to give us a chance to have that discussion."

Shaking his head in disbelief at Zoe's attempts to interfere, PJ smiled at him once again. "Thank you," he told him, his eyes shining with genuine gratitude as he stared up at Adam. "Thank you."

* * *

Adam couldn't help but grin to himself as he nursed the large bouquet of white flowers in his arms. For the rotten start that the day had had, it hadn't turned out too badly. Zoe seemed happy enough to have him as the new Nursing Unit Manager, PJ and Nick didn't react too adversely to his return and Amy Fox was on the mend. About the only thing that hadn't worked out for him was Dash. He hadn't gotten a chance to see her since that morning and her reaction to him stung. Dash hated him, and with good reason, but he just needed a chance to explain. If she'd just give him some time to explain, he knew she would forgive him. He just needed the chance.

As he approached his car, he was vaguely aware of a rather large man passing him. He was almost as tall as Nick and about twice as wide, with thick brown curls and a black cap. The man almost seemed to stagger as he walked, his breathing laboured and shallow. His instinct telling him something was amiss, Adam spun back to the stranger, only to watch him fall to the ground. Almost as soon as he hit the asphalt of the car park, he began to convulse, his arms and legs thrashing around him.

"Oh shit," Adam cursed as he tossed the flowers aside and raced to the man. He looked him over hurriedly, only to realise that his cap had fallen off to reveal a serious gash to his right temple. He looked around himself desperately. "Somebody, help!"

* * *

Adam leant against the desk of the emergency department, casting a thoughtful glance to the stranger lying in their resus cubicle. He'd stopped fitting by the time Zoe had raced out into the car park, but he wasn't breathing on his own anymore. They had him on a ventilator, but Adam highly doubted whether or not their mystery man would survive. But he'd decided to hold his opinions back until after they had the scan results.

He physically jumped as he looked back to the desk, only to see an unfamiliar folder lying in front of him. He turned to look back over his shoulder, relieved to find that it was only Zoe. He looked back to the folder. "What's this?"

"Toxicology," Zoe replied simply as she folded her arms across her white coat. Adam frowned up at her in confusion as he opened the folder and began to skim the sheets of paper. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror.

"Oh my God…" he mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.

Zoe took the folder from him, nodding grimly. "Even without the head injury, it's a marvel that guy isn't dead," she told him as she turned to stare at the man in the cubicle. "He took enough speed to kill a horse."

Adam ran his hand back through his hair, still unable to believe that someone could have possibly ingested that much drugs. Finally, he looked back to Zoe with a calm expression on his face. "Do we have the CT results, yet?"

Again, Zoe nodded grimly. She handed him a second folder, this time filled with several images. Immediately, Adam paled. She sighed as she glanced down to them herself. "Our mystery man's a dead man," she explained quietly. "Between the speed and the head trauma, he's never coming out of that coma."

Adam opened his mouth to respond to this, only to be interrupted by a quiet, yet very polite and professional voice behind him. "Ah, excuse me…"

Adam and Zoe spun around to see Ringo Barnett and Mark Jacobs standing on the other side of the counter, both looking like men on a mission. As the two medical staff stared at them in bewilderment, Ringo held up the wallet. "We're wondering if you've come into contact with a man called Leon Wallace."

Zoe's brow furrowed. "I've never even heard the name before," she replied. "Who is he, anyway?"

"Our truck driver," Mark answered quietly. "We've located the semi-trailer involved in PJ and Amy's accident; it looks like the driver sustained a serious head injury at some stage."

Adam grew paler still. He'd already worked it out. The mystery man who had collapsed in the car park was the same man who'd run PJ and Amy off the road. The very reason why PJ had looked so defeated and destroyed for the entire day. "You might want to come take a look at one of our patients," he explained.

Mark and Ringo shared a puzzled stare, yet followed Adam into the resus cubicle. As soon as the curtain was opened, their faces filled with horror. Ringo clutched at the leather wallet in his hand with a fierce tightness that turned his knuckles white. "That's him," he told Mark with a dismal nod. "That's our truck driver."

* * *

Nick stretched his neck from side to side as he returned to the muster room, heavy black bags hanging under his eyes and his hair hanging limply around his face. His skin was pale with exhaustion and his movements slow and stiff. The day hadn't been a good one. He liked to think of Amy as the little sister he'd never had and PJ was his best mate. Watching them go through the hell they'd faced during the day had worn him out.

Dash and Ringo were already in the muster room when Nick sat down at his desk, a little puzzled by the silence. Even though the room was only shared by three of them now, he was used to constant chatter. Dash and Ringo had formed a firm friendship and usually managed to find something to talk about. Yet that night, they simply stared at him worriedly.

"Amy's…going to be okay, isn't she?" Dash finally asked, using her right foot to swing herself backwards and forwards in her office chair. After a long moment of thought, Nick nodded in reply.

"Yeah," he told her with a smile. "I think so. She's very lucky. It could have been much worse…for both of them."

His younger colleagues nodded at his answer and, although Nick knew that they had a million more questions to ask, they remained silent. And, despite the uneasiness of the silence, he was glad that they didn't ask them. He knew that he wasn't likely to have the answers, anyway.

Finally the door to Mark's office opened and he appeared in the door, his tired face contorting into a proud grin. "It's been a bad day," he told them soothingly. "We've all had to face things that we don't want to. PJ and Amy are a big part of this station and I know that none of us ever want to consider the possibility that we might one day lose them. When things like this happen, it's so easy for us to lose hope or give up. But I'm proud of you. You kept persevering, even when others thought that a result was impossible. And we did get a result, in the end."

"But the driver's going to die, isn't he?" Nick asked, crossing his arms against his chest as he slouched back into his office chair. He didn't particularly know why he'd asked the question when he already knew the answer. Zoe had told him before he'd left the hospital to return to the station. He supposed he just wanted to see how his colleagues would react. Because, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it at all.

Mark nodded sadly. "Yes," he replied firmly. "Leon Wallace is on life support with no chance of recovery. When his family arrive from Queensland, his life support is likely to be turned off." Pausing, he decided to change the topic. "PJ and Amy are both going to make full recoveries. No matter what the truck driver's fate, we should all be proud of ourselves. We got a result and our colleagues are alive to live another day. Now, I am going to need those reports on my desk by Monday morning, okay?"

Nick and Dash groaned, but grudgingly agreed to have their reports finished. Ringo, however, remained silent for a long moment. He hadn't told anyone yet that he was going to be calling Mark 'Boss' and wondered if now was the right time. Finally, deciding to bite the bullet, he replied. "Sure, Boss."

His superiors froze in shock. Nick and Dash shared an uncertain glance as they considered what Ringo had just said. They both knew that 'Boss' was an old Mt. Thomas tradition. In fact, older than both of them put together. Yet, Tom Croydon had been in charge for so long that they'd never thought of that title being applied to anyone else. Yet here Ringo was, calling Mark Jacobs 'Boss'.

Finally, Dash nodded and offered Mark a smile. "Of course, Boss," she told him, which was quickly echoed by Nick.

As Mark turned to head back into his office, he saw his three uniformed officers turning to one another, each one looking like they were trying to resist the urge to laugh. He decided not to ask them why. It had been a long day. Yet, as he closed the door, he felt a strange energy surge within him. They were calling him 'Boss'. It was a title which indicated their respect and, he realised with a smile, that he had finally been accepted as the new Senior Sergeant of Mt. Thomas Police Station.

* * *

Dash yawned tiredly as she reluctantly climbed off her couch to answer the front door. As she pulled her old fluffy pink dressing gown around her slender frame, she found herself realising that it wasn't even that late. It wasn't even midnight, yet here she was exhausted. Ten years ago, she would have been happily partying until well after this time of night, but now she was almost falling asleep in front of the television. Her body was tired and demanded sleep, but her brain was still running on pure adrenaline. It had been a very personal case for all of them.

As she opened the front door, she found herself wishing that she'd just stayed on the couch. For in front of her stood Adam Cooper, a new bouquet of flowers in his arms. She rolled her eyes impatiently. "For heaven's sake," she mumbled, glaring at him harshly. "What does it take to get through that thick skull of yours?"

Adam drew in a deep breath as he clutched the flowers tighter to his chest. "Just hear me out, Dash," he begged quietly. "Just…just let me say my piece. I've been thinking of how I'd say this for over three years and I need to say it…"

"Go home, Adam," she told him as she yawned tiredly. "I'm tired. I've still got to get up early in the morning and the last thing I need is you waking Phoebe up. If she wakes up, I'll never get her back to sleep."

He closed his eyes as he let an agonising sigh escape his lips. "I'm sorry," he told her, opening his eyes to expose the tiny tears. It almost broke Dash's heart. It was almost like watching Phoebe cry. Yes…she'd definitely gotten her eyes from Adam. "I let you down and our little girl and I didn't mean to…I thought I was doing the right thing…"

"What?" she demanded, for a moment almost forgetting what she had said about Phoebe being asleep. "How was walking out on me when I was pregnant with your child the 'right thing'?"

Adam suddenly became flustered. He looked around him urgently as the tears began to escape his eyes. "Please," he begged. "Just let me say what I need to say. And, if you still hate me, I'll throw in the job at the hospital and you'll never hear from me again. Deal?"

Dash considered simply slamming the door in Adam's face, but she quickly realised that wouldn't work. Adam still had his police training, even if he was now a nurse. A slammed door wouldn't do much to deter him if he really wanted to talk to her. Finally, she nodded. "Deal," she agreed. "Just…come inside first. I don't need every gossip in Mt. Thomas chatting about this tomorrow. Just remember that Phoebe's asleep."

She waved him inside and closed the door behind him as he sat down on the couch. He sat the bouquet on the floor beside him, knowing that it would serve him no purpose. He'd need a lot more than flowers to woo Dash McKinley. She stared at him expectantly from across the room.

"Well, come on," she prompted him impatiently. "Where's the great explanation that's supposed to make me forgive you for abandoning your daughter?"

He lowered his head momentarily, before finally shrugging sadly. "I was lost after Tom sacked me," he began dismally. "I probably would have ended up getting myself in real trouble, except…my dad was diagnosed with cancer. It was end stage; there was nothing they could do to treat it."

Dash felt a lump rise in her throat. Talk of cancer always made her a little edgy. She'd become acutely aware of how lucky she was to have survived her own cancer and not have it recur. Especially now she had Phoebe to worry about, she was always a little worried that cancer might one day take her away from her daughter too soon. Her hatred of Adam was curbed a little by the sympathy she felt over his father's fate. She shrugged as she slowly stepped towards him. "I'm really sorry," she told him, only to receive a shaking head in response.

"It's okay," he reassured her with a sad smile. "I ended up looking after him and…I guessed I found something I was really good at. I ended up nursing him until he died and inherited the lot. I decided to go university and become a nurse. I'd had this opportunity thrust at me and I wasn't going to waste it."

Perching herself on the arm of the couch, Dash's eyes narrowed. "And?" she queried.

Adam looked up to her and offered her a genuine smile. "And I met this girl at uni. Her name was April Banks and…she was gorgeous. Nothing compared to you, of course, but…she liked me. She practically threw herself on me. Then one day she came up to me and told me she was pregnant."

Dash's face paled instantly. "You got her pregnant?"

"Not on purpose!" Adam explained hurriedly. "But…her parents were religious, I had to marry her. And…I looked after her and I loved our little boy. We named him Wade Adam Cooper." He smiled at the memory. "I adored him. He was my son and I wanted to give him the world. And I thought we'd be alright, until I came home from work one day to find April with her bags packed, telling me she was leaving."

"She divorced you?"

He nodded. "Eventually, yeah," he replied. "We were estranged for about a year before she served me with papers, though. I tried asking her why she was leaving and…and you know what she told me? I'd never really loved her. I was in love with someone else and she didn't know who. She just told me 'stop wasting my life and go be with her'." Adam laughed bitterly and Dash felt a pang go through her heart. Adam hadn't said it, but she knew that it was her who had broken up the marriage. "I only got Wade for every second weekend and every second Christmas. You've got no idea how hard that was."

Dash frowned, for a brief moment trying to consider what it would be like to not see her little girl every day. The thought of it stung her harder than she ever would have thought. If Adam had loved Wade even half as much as she loved Phoebe, then it would have destroyed him.

"I tried to make up for it," he explained. "But it was hard. April got married again to some rich bloke who could take them on holidays to the Gold Coast and Sydney and Hobart…how the hell was I supposed to compete with that? It got to a stage where Wade didn't even want to stay with me, just because he got spoilt rotten by April and the new husband." Tears were streaming down Adam's cheeks by now. He looked so gutted that it almost physically hurt Dash to watch him.

She slipped down onto the couch beside him. "Where is Wade now?" she asked quietly, only to immediately regret her question. The dark look that passed across Adam's face should have been answer enough.

He stared up at her as a pain Dash could barely even try to comprehend passed through Adam's eyes. "I got him for Christmas 2004," he explained, silent sobs breaking up his words. "He didn't want to come with me. April and the new husband were going to Adelaide and he didn't want to stay with me. I was going to let him go to Adelaide, but then one of my mates at work showed up with two tickets to Phuket. He was going to go with his wife, but she'd just been diagnosed with MS and they couldn't go. He told me to take Wade and show him just how cool his father was."

As Adam chuckled bitterly at the memory, Dash's mind began to whir at high speed. She knew that something had happened at Christmas 2004 and for a long moment, she couldn't remember what. Finally, it struck her and she felt stupid for not realising sooner. "The Boxing Day Tsunami," she mused.

Adam nodded. "Yeah, that was the time of the tsunami," he replied with a miserable sigh. "I thought it'd be a great chance to be Wade's favourite parent, you know? I just wanted him to love me as much as he did his mother. So I took him over to Phuket and…we had the best time. I don't think I'd ever heard him laugh so much. Christmas Day…well, it was the best day of my life, Dash. For the first time, Wade actually enjoyed spending time with me."

Dash's eyes filled with hot tears as she realised what had to come next. "What happened on Boxing Day?" she asked him, trying to stop herself from beginning to cry. For the first time since Adam had walked out on her, she felt something more than contempt for him. The more Adam spoke about Wade, the harder she found it to hate him.

"I was tired," he told her as his eyes glazed over in memory. "But Wade insisted that we go down to the beach early. I couldn't argue with his puppy dog eyes, so I took him. If I'd known then what I do now, I would never have said yes. We played in the sand and…" Horror seemed to fill Adam's face, almost as though he was reliving that one moment over and over. "…and then I noticed the ocean going back. I didn't think anything of it…until I saw the bloody great wall of water coming back in. I just acted on instinct – I grabbed Wade and ran like hell."

"Did you…did you get away?" Dash asked, shuffling a little closer to him as she drew her knees up to her chin. Silent tears were sliding down her cheeks. Again, she realised it was a stupid question. Of course Adam had survived and she didn't need to be a police officer to guess Wade's fate.

Adam shook his head dismally. "I couldn't bloody outrun a tsunami," he told her as his voice crept closer to hysterics. "We were just…swept up in this wall of water and I remember not being able to breathe. I just…clung onto Wade for dear life, but he kept coughing and I knew we had to get to high land, but I couldn't swim with him in my arms. The water was so fast…I couldn't hold onto him, Dash. The water ripped him from my arms. Next thing I remember is being thrown against a bloody building and waking up in hospital." He wiped at his tears, but it was a futile exercise. "They found him, three days later. He'd drowned."

"Oh, Adam…" she whispered, reaching out to stroke his cheek with her hand. But he pulled away, staring at her with a strange look in his eyes. It was one that she had only seen once before when he was breaking up with her. At the time, she'd thought it was disgust, but now she realised it was something else. It was a deeper kind of fear than she'd ever known before. It was fear of himself.

"I'd broken a leg, so I was evacuated back to Australia pretty soon after the tsunami," he continued, almost as though Dash had never spoken or tried to touch his cheek. "I went around to see April…I had to apologise and I knew we had to organise the funeral…she hit me as soon as she saw me on her doorstep. She probably would have killed me with the nearest object if her neighbour hadn't intervened. She…she…" Adam trailed off; his sobs becoming so loud that Dash was beginning to worry that Phoebe might wake up. "She told me that I'd killed him. If I'd just let him go to Adelaide, he'd still be alive today. And you know what else she told me? 'Heaven help the girl you really love'."

Dash shook her head firmly. "It wasn't your fault," she pointed out. "You didn't cause the tsunami."

He stared at her pointedly. "Yeah, but he would never have been in Phuket if I hadn't been so bloody pigheaded," he told her with a shrug. "I had to be the favourite parent. I couldn't just take him somewhere nice and safe for Christmas…I had to take him to Phuket. If I hadn't been so determined to make Wade love me more than April, he would have been in Adelaide, asking his mother what all the water was on the news."

Dash drew in a deep breath. It was making some sense to her now. She'd never known about Wade. In fact, Adam had never told her that he'd been in Phuket when the tsunamis struck. She knew that he had acquired an aversion to the beach since he'd been sacked from the force, but she hadn't asked how. In hindsight, it made all the sense in the world. "Is that why you left?" she asked him quietly, desperately trying to will herself not to cry.

Adam stared up at her with that same dark look in his eyes; the fear of himself. It pained Dash to see that look in his eyes. Finally, he nodded. "I couldn't do to you what I did to April," he confessed quietly. "I'd let Wade down. I'd killed him, Dash. I'd bloody killed him…I…I knew you'd do a far better job with our child than I could have…I would have just ended up hurting it…" He began to cry, looking almost like a child. "I killed him, Dash, I killed my own son…I killed him…"

"No, no…" Dash told him firmly as she reached out, wrapping her arms around him as she pulled him close. He didn't move away this time, instead beginning to sob into her chest. He clung to her tightly and Dash found it impossible to hate him. She was a mother, she understood. She only had to try to imagine losing Phoebe to understand why Adam had pushed her away. He had always loved their daughter, in his own way. And, if she had thought she was in danger of hurting her child, she probably would have done the same thing. "It's not your fault," she reassured him as silent tears slid down her cheeks. "How could you have stopped a tsunami? It's not your fault, you couldn't have known…"

Something struck her as she held him in her arms. It was a strange kind of passion that she had almost forgotten in the years since she'd last seen Adam. With the hate now gone, the love was resurfacing. She gently slipped away from his grasp and raised her hands to his cheeks. Something was sparkling in his eyes, a kind of excitement. She sought his lips hungrily as she let their bodies grow closer and they soon found themselves lying side by side on Dash's couch.

* * *

Amy had the overwhelming urge to vomit as she awoke, every breath sending an explosion of pain running through her weak body. She barely even found the strength to open her eyes, the starch white ceiling temporarily blinding her as she tried to turn away. She didn't think that she had been in this much pain before in her life. The worst pain was in her abdomen though. It was a stabbing pain that brought tiny tears to her eyes. Her throat felt like she'd just swallowed sawdust and was scratchy and raw. Squinting to make her eyes focus, she noticed a long tube carrying blood injected into the top of her hand. She winced at the sight. She didn't like needles at the best of times.

She was vaguely aware of someone squeezing her other hand and the faint sounds of snoring. Turning her head, she saw it was PJ sleeping fitfully in the hospital chair at her bedside. The sight of him brought a hint of a smile to her lips. She squeezed his hand gently in an attempt to wake him. Much to her surprise, it worked. As he stirred, she could see the stitched-up gash on his forehead. She took in a sharp breath, sending her into agony as her injured lung protested.

"Amy…" PJ gasped, the sleepy frown fading rapidly as he pulled his chair in closer to her bedside. "You're awake."

"You're hurt," she mumbled in reply, closing her eyes briefly as she tried to force back the tears in her eyes. She didn't want to show PJ how much pain she was in. Just from the unnatural paleness of his cheeks and the darkness in his eyes, she could tell that he was hurting too.

PJ reached up to touch at his injury, wincing slightly at the shot of pain that rushed through his head. As he lowered his hand, he shrugged. "It's nothing," he reassured her with a smile. "Just a cut." He paused as he noticed the way Amy was breathing. It was strangely slow and pained. "I'll go grab Zoe," he explained. "She can give you something for the pain…"

She shook her head as she clutched at PJ's hand tighter. "No," she told him firmly. "Don't go. Don't let go of my hand."

He paused with uncertainty, before finally nodding. He squeezed her hand tighter and raised it to his cheek. He let the skin of her hand brush against his momentarily, before kissing it tenderly. "It's okay," he assured her as little tears began to shine in his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

Amy nodded as she let her head fall back into the pillow. She revelled in PJ's touch, squeezing his hand so tightly that she was half-expecting him to yell out in pain. But he didn't. Instead, he chuckled weakly.

"You can have the Colbie Caillat song at our wedding reception," he told her as he laughed. "You can have any song you want. I was just trying to be funny by arguing with you."

She giggled at this, only to immediately wish she hadn't. She grimaced at the agony rushing through her body. At the fretful look passing through PJ's face, she feigned a smile. "I know," she reassured him softly. She paused, her tears beginning to spill over onto her ghostly white cheeks. "I love you," she told him as she gave up on stopping herself from crying. "I can't imagine my life without you anymore. I was so scared…so scared I was going to lose you…"

PJ nodded as he shuffled over onto the bed beside her, struggling to fit onto the small strip of space between Amy and the edge. She tried to move over to make room for him, but had to give up as the pain and weakness overwhelmed her. He reached over to wrap his arms protectively around her, letting his exhausted face rest beside hers on the pillow. He did his best not to cry. "It's okay now," he reminded her soothingly. "We're both okay. It's going to be fine. I love you, Amy Fox. But everything's going to be fine because you're right here beside me again."

She nodded as she snuggled in closer to him. From somewhere down the corridor, she could hear people chatting to each other. One of them was Zoe. She'd probably come in any second to check up on her and give her something for the pain. The thought of not being tortured every time she breathed was a powerfully soothing one. But not quite as soothing as having PJ at her side with his protective arms wrapped around her. He wasn't letting her go. He'd never let her go. If he could have his way, she'd just stay in his arms forever. And that was a prospect she would be happy to oblige.

_You make me smile, baby_

_Just take your time now_

_Holding me tight_

_Wherever you go_

Next episode... "Pig Shooting"

The Heelers are left shaken when it appears that someone is shooting at the police. Dash is forced to decide once and for all whether or not she wants Adam in Phoebe's life.

* * *


	3. Ep 23: Pig Shooting

**Episode 23: "Pig Shooting"**

_Lyrics come from "Love Like This" by Amity Dry, "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin and "My Happy Ending" by Avril Lavigne._

The sounds of children shrieking and laughing hit Nick's ears with a strange kind of pleasantness as he sat behind the wheel of the patrol car. He was trying to concentrate on the road ahead of him rather than the argument Travis and Trevor were having in the backseat. It was a hard task. The twins were hard to ignore.

"Shut up!" Travis cried, poking out his tongue and screwing up his face into an almost comical frown.

"You shut up!" Trevor retorted, letting his face contort into an expression identical to Travis'.

"No, you shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

Pressing his foot on the brake as he approached the impending stop sign, Nick rolled his eyes. "I've got a novel idea for the two of you," he told them as he turned back to face his sons. "Why don't you both shut up?"

For a long moment, Travis and Trevor were silent. They appeared to be considering their father's suggestion. But the moment soon passed and they had returned to arguing.

"You shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

Nick tried to stifle a laugh. Listening to his boys argue made him wonder why he'd ever convinced Zoe to try one more time for a child and marvel at how much he loved them all at the same time. All he knew was that he loved them very deeply and would never allow anyone to hurt them and get away with it.

He finally pulled the patrol car to a stop outside the primary school and turned back to his sons again. "Alright," he told them with a cheeky grin. "Don't make your teacher's life too hard today, got it?"

"Yes, Dad," they replied in unison, their laughter telling Nick that they were indeed up to something. He wouldn't have been surprised if they had a frog or rubber spider or whoopee cushion in one of their backpacks. They were practical jokers of the most irritating kind – or, at least, that was what their teacher said. But even their teacher had to admit that they were smart kids who'd get far, if they could just take life seriously.

As the back door slammed shut, Nick went to push his foot down on the accelerator and head back to the station before Mark realised that he'd borrowed the patrol car. But, at the sight of a young woman with frizzy blonde hair standing by the gate, he stopped. He climbed out of the car and approached her with a grin. "Why, hello there Miss Halliwell."

She looked away from the playground as Nick approached, offering him a relaxed smile. "Sergeant Schultz," she told him in her soft, gentle voice, "I've told you before to call me Jane."

"Yeah, but you've put up with those boys of mine for about two months," Nick replied as his smile became more of a playful grin. "That deserves some degree of respect."

Jane Halliwell chuckled lightly at Nick's comment. She'd met him on a handful of occasions – namely when the twins' behaviour became so unruly that she'd had to call Nick and Zoe in. And, despite his gruff and giant-like exterior, she'd worked out that Nick was about as soft as they came. Probably why his sons could almost get away with murder.

"Hopefully they don't give you too much trouble today," Nick continued as he drew in a deep breath. Something had changed during those few seconds of silence. He had a strange feeling of something akin to dread growing in his stomach. He could have sworn that he was being watched. As Jane began to reply, he cast a hurried glance over his shoulder. Nothing was out of the ordinary…

Until the gunshot sounded.

It took Nick a few seconds to realise that he'd been shot at and a few more seconds on that to realise that the bullet had landed somewhere near his feet. The bullet's impact with the ground kicked up a plume of dust that clung to Nick's police pants. Before he had a chance to coordinate himself to react, a second bullet was fired, this time hitting the public education sign on the school fence.

By this point, Nick knew what was going on. He swore loudly before turning back to a terrified Jane and the shell-shocked school children. They had all frozen, simply watching with gaping mouths. Nick began to wave his arms wildly, ushering them inside. "Go!" he shouted, his voice sounding something akin to a roar. "Get inside now!"

The kids needed no more encouragement. They took off, screaming loudly and scrambling desperately for the school buildings. Jane Halliwell, however, didn't run. She remained frozen, her eyes wide and her hands trembling violently.

Nick didn't stop to tell her to go. He slowly moved away from the school, pressing his body to the trunk of a nearby tree in an attempt to use it as a shield. He didn't realise how poor a place to hide it was. But the tree's narrow trunk saved him when a third bullet was fired, this time embedding itself in the bark.

He backed away from the tree, only to realise that Jane was still there. He grabbed her, shouting indistinguishably to her as he tried to force her through the gate and back towards the building, but he never got as far as the gap in the fence. A fourth and final bullet was fired, this time hitting Jane's shoulder and sending a stream of blood rushing from her body.

She became a dead weight in Nick's arms and, despite being rather slender and light, he nearly buckled underneath her. No longer aware of anything else going on around him, Nick carefully lowered Jane to the ground. She was unconscious by the time he had her in a lying position, his hands pressed to her shoulder hard in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He was only vaguely aware of the sounds of squealing tyres and he didn't look. He simply kept his gaze focused on the young teacher and his mind focused on the terrifying thought that someone was trying to kill him.

* * *

The late March morning had taken a turn for the chilly as Amy and PJ climbed out of the new CI car. It was a Ford Falcon, the colour of which Amy and PJ had spent many nights bickering about. Amy maintained that it was a deep turquoise, while PJ declared that it was simply green. He had refused to abandon his argument, even when arty Mark agreed with Amy. It was a nice car, though.

The site that greeted them was one that neither had quite expected. Large patches of blood covered the footpath, as well as Nick's police uniform. An ambulance was parked nearby and two ambulance officers were wheeling Jane Halliwell inside on a stretcher. Amy gulped as she tidied her jacket and approached Nick.

He was leaning against the same narrow tree he had tried to shelter behind earlier, his head buried in his hands. The blood had been washed from them, but they were still far more red than normal. He looked up slowly as Amy and PJ approached. "Some bastard was shooting at me," he mumbled quietly. He looked away from them, only to be surprised at how much his hands trembled with fear and shock. It still hadn't quite registered what had happened. "They were trying to kill me…"

PJ reached out, offering him a supportive hand on his shoulder. Nick nodded in a kind of silent thank you as Amy surveyed the scene. She had a distracted frown on her face. "It's a possibility that you weren't the target," she began, her voice quiet, almost as though she didn't want to admit what was happening to herself let alone PJ and Nick, "but…"

"It's highly unlikely," Nick finished, nodding slowly. "They wanted me dead…I…I don't know why, I haven't upset anyone lately…" He paused, chuckling nervously. "…unless you count Zoe, but I hardly think she'd have taken a gun to me…"

PJ simply shook his head as he patted Nick's shoulder again. Nick was in shock, so he was willing to forgive his poor attempt at humour. He offered his old mate a reassuring smile. "Mate, it's probably not anything you've done," he pointed out calmly. "We're coppers; we're always targets for someone."

Amy turned back to PJ and Nick, her eyebrows raised. "You're suggesting that someone's shooting at police officers?" She paused, a little surprised by the stupidity of her comment. She'd already worked out what was going on, yet hearing it spoken by PJ made it seem surprisingly real. Almost frighteningly real.

PJ opened his mouth to reply, but another voice interrupted him.

"You mean pig shooting?"

The trio spun to see Dash and Ringo returning from the school, Dash looking intrigued by the whole situation while Ringo remained oddly white. It wasn't difficult for them to work out what was troubling Ringo. He was only a young Probationary Constable, barely twenty-one, and unaccustomed to the idea of being fired upon. And his demeanour was even more understandable, given what they'd heard about his mother's death.

It had clearly been Dash who had asked about 'pig shooting'.

Amy drew herself up to her full height as she pushed her hands down into the depths of her pockets. "Not quite the terminology I would have used, but yeah," she admittedly with a sympathetic smile in Ringo's direction. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

PJ folded his arms against his dark leather jacket as he studied Dash intently. "So, what did the staff have to say about the incident this morning?"

"As far as Ringo and I could tell, there's no obvious reason why someone would be shooting at the school," she replied, turning her attention to PJ. "No custody disputes, no threats…in fact, the biggest incident that the school's had to deal with lately is some kid knocking off a couple of icy-poles from the canteen."

Amy nodded thoughtfully. She shared a knowing glance with PJ. The others didn't need to ask what they were thinking; it was clear enough in their eyes. Someone was shooting at the police and next time, it could be one of them falling victim.

Suddenly, a cry pierced the air. "Senior Detective Hasham!" It was high-pitched, a woman's voice. The frustrated roll of PJ's eyes said it all.

"Lee bloody Cruikshank," he groaned as he approached the woman who was hurrying along the footpath towards them. Behind her raced a man with a camera, looking distinctly unimpressed with the situation. As Lee finally stopped, PJ held out his hand. "You'll have to harass media liaison…"

Lee shook her head, her cropped blonde hair fluttering around her made-up face. "Surely you could give us a statement now, Senior Detective," she explained, shooting him a look which made Amy's blood boil from where she stood with the other officers. Lee stepped forward, becoming too close for PJ's liking. She was obviously flirting. "It would do you a world of good to give us your version of events now before the facts become…misconstrued…"

PJ stared at her coldly as he backed away. "I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying," he told her simply as Amy came up behind him.

The sight of Amy made Lee seem a little uncomfortable. She simply shot the two officers a glare that would have been murderous if looks could kill and stormed off, shouting something or another to her cameraman.

Laughing, PJ turned back to Amy. She simply shrugged. "She was coming onto you," she told him as she offered him a quick kiss on his cheek. "Was I supposed to just sit by and watch?"

PJ didn't reply. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and the pair returned to their colleagues, who were applauding and roaring with laughter. Even the deathly pale Ringo and the shell-shocked Nick were smiling.

* * *

The phones were ringing off the hook by the time PJ and Amy returned to the police station. The uniforms had returned over half an hour ago while they finished up at the scene and all of them had a phone in their hand. From somewhere near the mess room, they could hear the sounds of screaming and shouting, no doubt the Schultz twins. Mt. Thomas Primary had decided to close for the day, so Nick had been left with the boys.

Amy slipped her mustard coat from her shoulders as she returned to her desk. She laid it across the neat piles of paperwork on her desk and flopped down. She was biting her bottom lip distractedly while her mind went into overdrive. She reminded herself that she ought to be used to this by now. She'd been held at gunpoint enough times for someone twice her age and had dealt with enough 'pig shooting' cases in Melbourne. Perhaps it was the idea of it happening in Mt. Thomas. Mt. Thomas was, in general, a lovely community and the thought of someone shooting at police in this manner was abhorrent.

She was jolted from her thoughts when the door opened so suddenly that she physically jumped. As her heart calmed, she turned to see Ringo standing in the doorway, a small evidence bag clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white. Inside the small bag was a single bullet. He closed the door behind him silently. "Sorry, Amy," he apologised quickly. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, no," she told him with a half-laugh. "You're right. I was just off in a world of my own." Tidying her hair hurriedly, she nodded towards the bag. "A delivery from Crime Scene, I gather?"

Ringo glanced down to the bag, almost as though he'd forgotten it was there. He nodded in reply. "They recovered it from the tree," he explained as he surrendered it to Amy.

She studied it intently. She wasn't as good with identifying weapons as some of her colleagues, but even she could tell that it was from a shotgun, the likes of which were common around Mt. Thomas. "I'd say it's from a shotgun," she told Ringo as she sat the bag down on PJ's desk. She'd run it past him when he got back from the bathroom. He was much better with that than she was. Instead, she decided to address the reason why Ringo looked like a ghost. Her expression grew sympathetic. "It must have been hard," she began. Ringo looked uncertain. "I mean, losing your mother like that…"

The look that passed through Ringo's face was unmistakable. He looked as though he wanted to scream, cry and throw up all at the same time. Instead, he settled for a shrug. "I never knew her," he admitted. "It wasn't that hard."

"Yeah, but still," Amy replied. She leaned in closer, looking up at him with such sadness shimmering under the surface of her usually cool demeanour that it shocked Ringo. Even when Amy had been lying in a hospital bed, bruised and sore after major surgery, she had never looked quite that vulnerable. "I barely remember my parents," she confessed quietly. "I was eight when they died. It was a car accident. They were killed instantly while I slept through the whole thing on the backseat."

Ringo's paleness lessened, but he seemed to be in shock at this revelation. If he was honest, he hadn't put much thought into the childhoods of his colleagues. He knew about Dash's family and her upbringing and even about the father of her daughter, but he hadn't thought about anyone else. It had never crossed his mind to inquire. "Did you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked gently.

Amy frowned for a long moment, before shaking her head slowly. "No," she answered simply. "No, I didn't. But after my parents died, I went to live with my uncle – my mother's brother – and his wife and their two sons, Brendan and Damian. They were kind of like my older brothers. I don't see much of them anymore, though. I haven't seen Damian since I was sixteen and I haven't seen Brendan since last year." She feigned a laugh as she realised how dangerously close the conversation was getting to the sexual abuse. She decided to move away from that particular topic. "But I know what it's like to lose a parent – or both – and I know how much it can knock you around. It took me a year before I could even look at a car without wanting to burst into tears."

"Really?" he asked in surprise, before his commonsense kicked in. It was a stupid remark.

She nodded. "Even when I got over that phobia, I was a mess when it came to getting my licence. I kept wondering if I was going to end up hurting myself or someone else or winding up dead like my parents. It takes time, Ringo." She paused as she watched the effect of her words of the Probationary Constable. He seemed to relax a little, but he still seemed oddly white. "I'm not saying that this kind of case won't upset you, because it can upset us all. It's making me feel sick to my stomach, but…it'll get easier. You trust me, don't you?"

Ringo nodded. "Yes."

"Then, if nothing else, trust that. It will get easier. It just takes a bit of time and work, okay?" Amy offered him a smile which finally seemed to put Ringo at ease. He returned it as best he could, before turning to leave.

Before he disappeared back out into the muster room, however, he stopped to turn back to Amy once more. "Thank you, Amy."

"Don't mention it," she replied, her smile slowly fading as the door closed. She turned her attention back to the bullet and the sickening feeling in her stomach reared its head again. She held the bag up and surveyed the bullet keenly. "We'll get you, shooter," she mumbled to herself, her eyes narrowed in determination. "You're not going to get away with trying to kill police in this town."

* * *

As Dash moved through the crowd of the Mt. Thomas District Hospital, she prayed that she wouldn't find Adam Cooper around the next corner. She hadn't seen him since the night he'd told her about his son and she'd kissed him so hungrily that she had surprised herself. She didn't hate him anymore, in fact, she'd all but forgiven him entirely, but something held her back. It was a kind of restraint she'd never bothered with before. Just a niggling sense that she had to ere on the side of caution when it came to Adam. If not for her sake, then for Phoebe's.

Passing the nurses' station, she was momentarily distracted by the slightest of movements. In hindsight, she would have kept going, but instead she stopped. It was Adam. He was sitting at a small wooden table, contemplating a steaming mug of coffee and a couple of Tim Tams. He leapt up at her appearance. "Dash…"

She shook her head as he approached. "No, Adam," she warned him coolly. "Just…no."

"Why not?" he queried, moving ever closer despite her warning.

She cringed away from him. "Because…because…" Dash trailed off. She honestly hadn't thought about what she'd say to him. She'd been too focused on avoiding him entirely. Something panged in her heart, urging her to kiss him as she had that night, but her mind was simply too forceful. Her doubts held her back. "Because I've got a job to do," she finished. She knew very well that Adam didn't buy that comment whatsoever, but he didn't argue. Instead, he shrugged.

"Yeah," he mumbled thoughtfully, "the ambos told us about the pig shooting incident." He frowned for a long moment as a streak of worry passed through his face. "You guys don't know who's responsible, do you?"

Dash shook her head. If she was honest with herself, she felt just as scared as Adam looked. She had spent most of her life in this cosy little backwater and she'd never seen an incident like this before. "No," she confessed in a hoarse whisper. "We don't." Drawing herself up to her full height, Dash pushed her fists down into the pockets of her police pants. "Look, I'm just here to find out how Jane Halliwell's doing…"

Adam nodded in understanding. "You guys think she might have seen something, don't you?"

"Well, that's Nick's theory, anyway," Dash replied. "He reckons Jane Halliwell was standing there the whole time…" She suddenly stopped. In the space of a few seconds, she'd gone from trying to distance herself from Adam to forgetting that he wasn't a police officer anymore. "Anyway…when will we be able to talk to her?"

Sighing dismally, Adam's demeanour instantly changed. His expression became downtrodden. "The bullet nicked a major artery," he explained in an almost monotone. "And it looks like it shattered the collarbone. She's still in surgery at the moment, but Zoe wasn't too hopeful…"

Dash's face paled slightly. She nodded at this, letting her gaze drop to the floor. "Thanks anyway," she told him as she turned to leave. But before she got the chance, his warm fingertips slipped tightly around her wrist. She froze in her tracks and turned back towards him. "What?"

"I'm not the same man who deserted you, Dash," he reassured her gently. "You don't have to be scared of me anymore. I would never do that to you again, I swear on my life…"

She shook her head as she yanked her wrist away and glared at him firmly. "It's not me I'm worried about," she pointed out as her cool nature towards him returned. "It's our daughter."

* * *

PJ frowned as he studied the list of recent offenders, Amy peering over his shoulder. She was biting her bottom lip in the absentminded nature she always did whenever she was thinking and that thought comforted him. He had learned to seek reassurance in her habits. Finally, she moved away, biting her thumbnail distractedly as she hunched her shoulders. If the situation wasn't so serious, he would have laughed at the familiarity of this stance. "Cheer up," he urged her gently. "We didn't expect much from recent offenders, anyway."

She nodded as she began to pace furiously, her soft silky hair forming a curtain around her face. "There has to be something," she mused. "Something we're not getting…"

PJ nodded thoughtfully, before finally shrugging. "It could just be a random attack," he suggested, her words making Amy stop dead in her tracks. "You know, we are coppers, it does happen…"

"Yeah, but in Mt. Thomas?" she replied, her tones dripping with disbelief. "In Melbourne, maybe…but not here. Whoever's doing this has a motive. We just need to find out what." Frowning, Amy met his gaze. Her charming emerald eyes carried that look they always did whenever she was enveloped in a case. He found himself smiling at the sight. He knew Amy was always happiest when she had a juicy crime to investigate. "I suppose there's no real point in seeing who owns registered shotguns in town…"

He laughed. "Not really," he agreed with a smile. "We'd be eligible for pensions before we got even half-way through. And that's not counting the illegal shotguns that some of the farmers have hidden away in this town." At PJ's words, Amy's expression fell slightly. It was obvious that she felt stuck. He rose to his feet, looping his tender fingertips around her wrist in a sign of reassurance. "We'll find out what's going on, Amy. You know that, don't you?"

Sighing resignedly, Amy nodded. "I do," she admitted quietly. "I just…When I first heard that Nick had been shot at, I just…I just remembered that night at the station…"

Her words hit PJ hard. His face fell as he retreated, turning his back on her as he regarded the world beyond the window. He could fell his heart pounding his chest. Amy hadn't specified just which night at the station she was referring to, but it hardly seemed necessary. He knew she meant the night he was shot. To hear that night acknowledged made him feel frightened enough to be almost shaking. Even months down the track it didn't seem real.

"That night…" he began, his words coming out in a hoarse whisper as they caught in his throat. "It was…it was like it wasn't happening to me. It felt like I was just watching it happen to someone else. I…I don't think I was really thinking. You can't think…not when the person you love is in mortal danger like that."

Amy nodded in agreement as she stepped towards him tentatively. She reached out to cling to his upper right arm, her head falling to one side so that her cheek rested almost serenely on his shoulder. For a long moment, she couldn't speak. Her throat felt tight and her eyes were clouded with tears. Finally, she felt something almost foreign leaving her lips. "I wasn't thinking either," she confessed quietly. "Or, at least, I don't think I was. I can't have been…not really. I confided things in Nick that night that I never imagined anyone but you knowing. I…I lost my head. Every logical thought, everything that I would have thought or said or done in any other situation…it was just gone." She shrugged as her voice finally broke off and she discovered that she was crying. She hadn't realised while she had been speaking. The tears had started slipping down her cheeks and she had been too lost in her own memories to stop them.

PJ turned to her, cupping her cheek in his hand as he used his thumb to wipe her tears away. His touch brought a smile to her face. She found herself laughing weakly as he spoke. "Whatever happened that night," he told her in a quiet, yet somehow very firm voice, "I don't regret it. If I had that night over, I'd do exactly the same thing again and again…a million times over, even."

She stared up at him, a kind of bewilderment shimmering in her eyes. "Even though you now know what you're giving up to be with me?" she queried, her voice sounding strangely small. "I…I mean…I can't give you kids or…or…"

He simply laughed. He let his hand slip from her cheek to the back of her head, his fingers becoming tangled in her soft brunette locks. He leant forward to kiss her forehead tenderly. "I'm not in love with your uterus, Amez," he pointed out with a loving chuckle. He lowered his head as he let his lips brush against hers and it seemed like an eternity before they parted. "I didn't realise what it was I had with you until I lost you for two and a half years. Nothing will ever be enough to make me let that go again."

Amy nodded slowly as she pulled away. PJ's words reassured her. In fact, they did more than that. They uplifted her, made her feel better than she had ever thought she could feel. It made her marvel at the fact that, despite all the years of loneliness and abuse, she finally had the love she'd always yearned for.

_You are all and more_

_That I'd ever hoped to find_

_With a love like this_

Their tender moment was interrupted when the door opened. PJ and Amy rolled their eyes as they turned to the doorway out into the muster room. Nick Schultz was the only person in the station who had yet to master the art of knocking.

PJ eyed him with a mock coolness. "I don't know how Zo puts up with you," he chuckled. Nick just shot him a weak grin in response.

"Zo-Zo's used to it," he replied, with none of his usual bravado. This both surprised and scared Amy and PJ. They were used to Nick's dry wit which seemed to have no boundaries and know no emotions. Not today, it seemed. "I was just wondering if one of you would like to go down to the Imperial with Starry. I thought it might be nice to get him out into the fresh air and I figured that our local bush telegraph has to know something."

Amy nodded thoughtfully. Nick's reasoning did make sense – Chris Riley's pub was the centre of a lot of gossip in Mt. Thomas, if anyone knew what was going on it would be her. And she did like the idea of getting Ringo out of the station for a bit. "I'll go," she offered quickly as she snatched her coat from its hook.

* * *

The sunlight almost blinded Ringo as he followed Amy out of the station, allowing himself to fall behind her long and confident strides. She seemed to be in a considerably better mood than when she'd confided in him about her parents' deaths and he could only guess that PJ had played some role in that. He'd only been in Mt. Thomas for a short time, but he'd seen enough of Amy and PJ together to know the effect that one had on the other.

As they reached the patrol car, Amy stopped. She didn't get in, much to Ringo's surprise. Instead, she spun to face him. "What are you like with a video camera?" she asked. Her question almost made him laugh. It seemed to have come so far from left field that it was almost absurd.

"Okay…I guess…" Ringo replied hesitantly. "Why?"

Amy laughed at the puzzled look on her young colleague's face. Offering him a friendly smile, she continued. "Some of the people PJ and I wanted to come to our wedding can't make it," she explained, a hint of dismay in her tones. "So we decided last night to get someone to videotape it so we can send them copies. Besides, we can always reminisce over old times when we're old and grey."

Ringo's expression relaxed at Amy's last comment, but he still seemed disbelieving. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" Amy shrugged in reply. "You've always struck me as being a bit cluey when it comes to technology. Besides, I've got Zoe, Chris and Dash as my bridesmaids, Nick is PJ's best man and Mark has some disagreement with anything more advanced than a television…"

"You'd trust me to film your wedding?"

Amy chuckled. "Yeah…more than I trust Nick Schultz not to lose the rings, at any rate," she joked. Her words reassured him and she noticed that he was smiling. "Look, PJ and I talked about this and…and we want you to videotape it for us. You're our friend and our colleague. We wouldn't trust anyone else with the job."

Beaming with pride, Ringo nodded quickly. "Of…of course, Amy," he agreed. "I'll do it!"

She opened her mouth to thank him, but she never got the chance to say it. Something thunderously loud sounded from nearby and Amy was certain that she felt something moving quickly past her, far too close for comfort. Shell-shocked, it wasn't until it sounded a second time that she realised what was going on. They were being shot at.

Without thinking, she threw herself upon Ringo, knocking him to the ground behind the four-wheel-drive. Beneath her body, she was certain she could feel him trembling with fear as he turned a deathly white. She couldn't blame him. She nearly leapt ten metres in the air herself when a third shot collided with the car door.

Amy stayed low until she heard the sounds of tyres squealing. Slightly shaky, she began to push herself up to peer over the top of the bonnet. She had to get a look at their shooter's car. Nick had been too preoccupied that morning, so it was up to her to see what was going on. As she hurriedly scanned the street outside the station, she caught sight of a bright red Toyota Corolla rounding the corner at break-neck speed. Squinting against the sunlight, she studied the licence plate until the car disappeared from sight barely half a second later.

That was about the moment that all hell seemed to break loose. The door to the station burst open and PJ, Nick and Mark raced out. Nick was brandishing the station rifle, yelling some kind of indistinguishable warning to their shooter. Mark was trying to pull Ringo to his feet, while Amy was vaguely aware of PJ wrapping his hands around her arm, guiding her gently back to standing.

"Damn it!" Nick cursed, stomping his foot angrily and giving the tyre of the four-wheel-drive a vengeful kick. "The bastard's gone!"

* * *

Mark sat back in his office chair, surveying the two officers sitting before him worriedly. He couldn't get the panic out of his mind. When he'd heard the gunshots, he'd been terrified. He knew that Ringo and Amy had been outside; he'd heard them talking from his office window. When the gunshot had sounded and they'd fallen silent, he'd expected the worst. Another two colleagues senselessly gunned down. But they hadn't been and he was eternally grateful.

He leant forward, clasping his hands together on his desk. For a brief moment, he was distracted by an old faded photograph in an old brown frame. It was a picture of him and Piper from their academy days, long before life had proved how complicated it could be. It sent a pang of agony through his heart, before the sound of Amy's voice startled him back to reality.

"It must have been our shooter," she explained coolly. She began to rise to her feet. "I have to see PJ…"

"No, no," Mark snapped, surprised at how quickly the words had tumbled out. They made Amy stop in her tracks, eyeing him with uncertainty as she sat back down in the chair next to Ringo. Mark cast his gaze over to the younger officer, who looked distinctly more uncomfortable than Amy. Whereas Amy seemed frustrated by this formality, Ringo seemed scared. He was still deathly pale and his eyes wide. "Look, if either of you feel the need to speak to someone about this…"

Amy shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks," she told him firmly. She offered him a reassuring smile. He could see the look in her eyes. The only thing she needed to do was get back out on the job. Ringo, however, didn't look so certain.

He shook his head anyway. "I'll be fine, thanks Boss."

Mark wasn't convinced, but he had the suspicion that he had no hope of getting any other kind of response out of his Probationary Constable. "Well then," he continued as he cleared his throat. "If either of you want to go home, then I'll understand…"

Amy climbed to her feet, shaking her head. "Boss…" she paused momentarily, surprised at the word leaving her lips. She'd only ever thought that name would be used for Tom Croydon, so to hear it used for Mark Jacobs seemed foreign. But it seemed right, somehow. "…I'm fine. I just need to speak to PJ." With that, she slipped out of his office, Ringo and Mark staring after her.

As he felt Mark's gaze return to him, Ringo gulped. If he was honest with himself, he wanted nothing more than to climb into the depths of his bed at the pub and close his eyes until it was all over. Then he'd go downstairs and enjoy a good chat with Chris Riley until he felt better. But something inside him kept him from admitting this. If he wanted to be a good copper, then he couldn't just give up at the first sign of danger.

"Are you sure you'll be right?" Mark queried worriedly.

"I'm sure, Boss," Ringo lied through gritted teeth. Still, he managed to feign a reassuring smile as he slipped back out into the muster room, leaving Mark staring after him, unconvinced.

* * *

PJ was sitting behind his desk, his face buried in his palms. A kind of numb relief rushed through his body, keeping him frozen and detached from the speaking in the muster room as Dash returned from the hospital. He didn't move until he felt warm arms wrap around him, helping him to his feet. They were Dash's. "She's alright, Peej, you know she's alright."

He nodded numbly as he opened his eyes to see Dash. He tried to return her reassuring smile. "I know," he replied quietly. "But that was too close. Amy and Ringo both could have copped bullets just then. Our shooter's gotten game. Where's he going to have his next go, somewhere in the muster room?"

Dash nodded in understanding as she rubbed PJ's arms soothing. "We'll get him Peej, you know that."

He chuckled weakly. "Your confidence in our ability astounds me," he told her, before sighing dejectedly. "We have nothing, Dash. Unless Jane Halliwell can tell us anything…"

"She's still in surgery," Dash explained, feeling guilty for having to deliver this news. The tone in his voice had been hopeful, but that hope was quickly fading. "Her condition isn't good. Ad…Adam said Zoe wasn't too hopeful."

Groaning loudly, PJ massaged his temples. "So our shooter might get away with this," he grumbled. "This is a disaster…"

His thoughts were disturbed as Amy appeared in the doorway to the CI office, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully as she contemplated the scene before her. Dash simply offered her a smile as she stepped back from PJ. "See, Peej," she told him pointedly. "Amy's fine."

PJ nodded as he turned his gaze away from Dash and towards Amy. He moved towards her, tentatively reaching out to let the back of his hand brush against her cheek. His touch brought a smile to her lips. "I saw the car," she told him simply.

Her words had a powerful effect on PJ. His expression suddenly lifted as he guided Amy over to her chair. As soon as she was seated, he perched himself on the corner of her desk and leant in eagerly. "Continue," he urged her, a hopeful grin on his face. Amy returned it as best she could.

"I saw a red Toyota Corolla racing out of here after the shooting," Amy explained, her gaze darting away from PJ briefly to Dash. "The rego begins with FRW; I didn't catch the rest. It could just be a coincidence that the car was racing off like that, but…"

Grinning, PJ turned to Dash. She motioned out to the muster room. "I'll run a check, see what I can come up with," she told them as she disappeared over to her computer.

As soon as Dash was gone, he turned his gaze back to Amy. "I could kiss you," he laughed.

Amy's expression changed to one of pride at this. She shrugged cheekily. "Don't hold back," she replied and PJ pressed his lips tenderly against hers.

* * *

Amy remained behind her desk, frowning thoughtfully as she tried to tidy her desk. If Garth Henderson had been alive to see her, he would have laughed. She knew this was typical Amy Fox behaviour – whenever things got too complicated or too stressful or too emotional, she turned to cleaning. It was a habit that even PJ's most disorganised moments couldn't dislodge.

She was distracted from her cleaning by an exclamation from Dash. It was an almost indistinguishable sound, but one that attracted the male officers of the station to her PC terminal within seconds. He frown deepened as she finally rose to her feet to join them.

Mark and Ringo slipped aside to allow Amy through and she narrowed her eyes as she read over Dash's shoulder. "Maya Reeves," she mumbled, staring at the name.

Dash nodded proudly. "She has a red Toyota Corolla with the rego FRW-460," she explained with a wide wave of her hand. "She's got a couple of priors; it's just minor stuff though. Underage drinking, shoplifting…nothing recent, anyway."

"So why would she be shooting at coppers?" PJ asked, raising a hand to his chin to stroke it thoughtfully. Amy cast him a quick glance before returning her gaze to Dash. Under the expectant stares of her colleagues, Dash turned back to the computer and brought up an internet browser window.

Bracing herself on Dash's desk as she leant in closer, Amy could see that it was a fairly recent article from the Mt. Thomas Gazette. She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that the Gazette had gone online," she mumbled and from behind her, she heard a laugh.

"That just means that the rest of the world now has to read Timmsy's rubbish," Nick chuckled as Amy rolled her eyes. Outwardly, she disapproved of Nick's derogatory comments towards Tony Timms. Inwardly, she was laughing with him.

"You guys remember the drug bust back in December?" Dash asked them, turning back to Amy and PJ.

PJ nodded slowly. "Yeah, I remember," he replied with a distant expression on his face. "We were stuck out in the cars in forty degree heat waiting for the shipment to arrive. Nick kept telling bad jokes and you kept subjecting us to crappy heavy metal music."

Recognising a jab at her music tastes, Dash poked her tongue out at PJ, before quickly growing sombre. "Her brother, Kane Reeves, was one of the guys we arrested," she informed them. "The judge came down pretty hard on him. After the trial, she made statements to Timmsy about how harsh we'd been on the kid."

"The 'kid'," PJ pointed out, his tone growing firm, "was going to deal that heroin to people in Mt. Thomas. We would have been cleaning up overdose victims from the streets if that shipment wasn't stopped…"

"I know, Peej, I know," Dash interjected. She knew that PJ would have kept going if she'd let him, and she didn't want that. His dislike for drug dealers was infamous. Not that she blamed him. "And that's the line Timmsy took too. But it gives her a motive."

Amy cleared her throat, catching her colleagues' attention instantly. "This Maya Reeves wouldn't happen to own a shotgun, would she?" she asked with a hopeful smile on her face. At the shake of Dash's head, her expression fell. But then Dash spoke and the hope was reignited.

"No…but her grandmother does."

* * *

Amy felt almost guilty for intruding upon the peaceful Mt. Thomas street in the new CI car, PJ beside her and Mark and Nick tailing in the patrol car. It had a serene quiet around the place which made her feel as though simply making a noise was a crime. Leafy trees hung overhead, covering the road with cool shadows that broke every now and again into patches of sunlight. The lawns were a bright green and the aroma of any variety of flowers hit her so hard that she began to feel drowsy. It felt as though this street had been lifted straight from a picture book.

PJ pulled the CI car to a stop, checking his gun in his holster as he offered her an encouraging smile. He obviously recognised that she was miles away as he reached out to take her hand within his.

She finally jolted back to attention as he kissed it tenderly. "Sorry," she apologised hurriedly. "I just…can't believe that someone who would be quite happy to shoot at police lives in a street this…this…"

"Picturesque?" he finished for her, as she nodded in affirmation. He laughed weakly. "Well, it is the grandmother's house, not Maya's or Kane's. She's probably some sweet old dear who thinks the sun shines out of her grandkids. Probably has no idea what Maya's been getting up to today."

She shook her head at this. "No," she told him thoughtfully. "Eva Reeves will know what Maya's been getting up to, even if she can't admit it to herself. It's in my experience that grandmothers typically know a lot more about their granddaughters than they might ever want to know."

PJ simply raised an eyebrow. It was quite clear that Amy was speaking from experience, but she didn't dare ask. He tucked Amy's cryptic comment away in his mind to investigate later and returned his attention to the case at hand. "Let's see what Eva Reeves has to say, eh?" he told her, offering Amy a nervous grin as he squeezed her knee. She returned his smile as the pair climbed out of the car and approached the front door of a nearby house, Nick and Mark on their tails.

Seconds after PJ had rung the doorbell, they heard an impatient mumble from somewhere inside the house. "I'm coming, I'm com…oh." As the last syllable met the officers' ears, the door opened to reveal a woman in her late sixties. Gentle grey curls fell around her full face, which seemed to be graced by only the lightest of wrinkles. Her sky blue eyes widened with surprise at the sight before her. "What's happened? Is Maya…"

Raising an eyebrow at PJ, Amy turned back to Eva as she forced a reassuring smile onto her lips. "Maya's fine as far as we're aware, Mrs. Reeves," she explained, clutching her clipboard close to her stomach. "Have you seen your granddaughter at all today, by any chance?"

Hesitantly, Eva shook her head. "She went out last night," she replied, her voice becoming weak the longer she spoke. Fear had swept across her face and even her hands were beginning to tremble with terror. She let her gaze travel from Amy across to the rest of the group before she continued. "What…what's this about?"

Nick opened his mouth to speak. For a moment, PJ considered letting him. But concern for this obviously frightened woman took over him and he cleared his throat self-importantly. The last thing that would make Eva Reeves help them was Nick Schultz losing his temper.

"There was an incident at the primary school this morning," PJ explained, while Nick silently fumed behind him. "A police officer was fired upon and a young teacher was seriously injured."

Eva's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh dear Lord," she gasped. Little tears formed in her eyes. "Are they both going to be okay?"

"They missed me," Nick grumbled, his voice seemingly startling Eva. Her horror deepened as he continued. "The teacher was hit in the shoulder. They still don't know if she'll survive. Even if she does, her arm won't be much good to her again."

Shaking her head, Eva finally dared herself to speak. "That's horrible, it really is, but…but I'm afraid I can't see what this has to do with me…"

Amy drew in a deep breath to steady herself as she felt PJ's hand slip around hers. A brave smile crossed her lips at his touch. "There was a second incident half an hour ago," she told her quietly. "Another officer and I were shot at outside our police station. The bullets missed by mere centimetres. I saw the car that the shooter was in. It's registered in Maya's name."

Eva's hands fell away from her mouth and she began to wring them in front of her stomach. She shook her head firmly. "Not the Corolla," she mumbled as she stared at them in shock. "Are you sure?"

PJ nodded grimly. "Very sure," he replied. He indicated inside the house. "Can we come in?"

"Don't…don't you need a search warrant, ah…" Eva trailed off, suddenly realising that she hadn't bothered to ask for the police officers' names.

"Senior Detective Hasham," PJ introduced, before motioning to his colleagues. "And these are Senior Detective Fox, Senior Sergeant Jacobs and Sergeant Schultz. And no, we don't need a search warrant if you give us permission."

Eva seemed uncertain for a long moment, before she finally stepped aside and nodded. As Amy went to slip past, she wrapped her worn fingers around the younger woman's slender wrist.

Amy froze at the touch, staring at Eva Reeves blankly. "Is there something wrong?" she queried.

"Do you have children, Senior Detective Fox?" Eva asked her, her eyes brimming with tiny tears that didn't escape Amy's attention.

The detective hesitated for what felt like an eternity. She dreaded the children question. Answering it was simply too complicated, too involved and too painful. From the looks she usually got when she eventually did answer it, she knew that her 'no' was being interpreted as 'not yet'. And that annoyed her beyond belief.

"No," she finally replied, gently pulling her wrist away from Eva's grasp.

A strange look of despair passed across Eva's face. "Then you don't know what it's like," she told her, looking away as a solitary tear slipped down her cheek.

* * *

To Amy, the house appeared very normal. The furniture was a little faded, but carried a very strong theme of pale musty pink. Ornate china sat in dusty cabinets and photographs adorned every available inch of wall space. If they didn't know what Maya Reeves had been up to, she wouldn't have suspected a thing of this place. As it was, she struggled to comprehend that this kindly old woman owned a firearm.

"Where's Maya's bedroom?" Nick asked, his voice more of a grumble than anything else.

Trembling slightly, Eva made a sweeping motion with her hand. "Down that hallway," she explained. "Third door on your left."

Nick nodded as the group made their way to a closed white door. On the outside was a picture which had clearly been printed off using a printer that was low in ink. It had red stripes across it, but they could still tell that it was of Maya and her beloved brother, Kane.

He opened the door slowly as a stunned silence hit the group hard. It was cluttered and messy, which they had expected. But the walls were plastered with countless newspaper articles. Amy slipped past Nick to investigate, instantly recognising them as Tony Timms' handiwork. They were all related to the drug bust they'd conducted in December and Kane Reeve's arrest. But then there were others, unrelated to their drug bust, but all concerning police brutality and incompetence.

"Maya really has something against us," she mumbled, desperately trying to take it all in. But her thoughts were interrupted as she heard PJ's gasp of shock.

She hurried across the room to where he stood with Mark and Nick behind him, staring at a cork pin board. Little white scraps of paper with hurriedly written notes had been tacked haphazardly across it, with photographs pinned around them. Quickly, she realised just what they were. The photographs were of them, at work, at home and at the pub, while the notes detailed information about them.

"She's been watching us for ages," PJ explained, leaning in to study a note that had been pinned next to a photograph of him kissing Amy outside the Imperial. He began to read it aloud. "Senior Detective Patrick Hasham, also known as PJ. Engaged to Amy Fox. Previous fiancées murdered. Shot and spent time in a wheelchair. No children…"

Amy quickly scanned the board for information about her. As her eyes darted across it, she found notes about Dash, Nick, Mark and even a few sentences about Ringo. Finally, she found hers. Maya Reeves had found out about her living arrangements, her relationship with PJ and even her miscarriage, but thankfully nothing about the abuse, Homicide or her infertility. PJ and Nick already knew, but the last thing she needed was Mark reading about them here.

Nick's voice rang out in the silence, causing them all to jump involuntarily. "The sick bitch," he mumbled in disbelief. Unsure of what exactly had caused his reaction, Amy scanned for his note again. Sure enough, Maya had somehow found out about his wife and daughter. She re-read the notes on her colleagues, suddenly very concerned about what else might have been uncovered. Somehow, Maya had discovered about Ringo's mother's murder and policing family, Mark's separation and affair with Piper, and Nick's sons, but it was the information on Dash that kept her transfixed. She had to re-read it several times before it registered, by which time Nick had read it aloud.

"Adam Cooper is Phoebe McKinley's father," he gasped, turning to stare at his colleagues in bewilderment. "When was Dash planning on telling us?"

Mark shook his head as what he was reading sank in. He hadn't been focusing on what had been written about Dash; rather, he was too busy making sure that Maya hadn't blown Piper Morris' cover. Thankfully, all Maya had noted was the cover story of a Melbourne promotion that they'd concocted. He sighed despondently as he took in what Nick had said. "I don't think she was planning on telling us at all, Sergeant," he pointed out.

PJ nodded thoughtfully as he finally turned away from the pin board and back to a shell-shocked Eva. "Where do you keep your shotgun?"

Eva took a long time to answer, apparently too dazed by the discovery of her granddaughter's obsession. Finally, she nodded and led them further down the hallway to a small cupboard. Eva fumbled through her pocket. "I keep it locked," she explained in a slightly shaky voice. "Tommy Croydon warned me back in the '80s that I was breaking the law if I didn't."

Amy forced down a chuckle. She knew that all the sweet old dears of Mt. Thomas used to call Tom Croydon 'Tommy', and it seemed Eva Reeves was no exception. But she hadn't heard it said for so long that she had almost forgotten it entirely. But her thoughts were soon just as forgotten when the cupboard swung open to reveal that it was very empty.

"Mrs. Reeves?" Mark queried, staring at Eva with narrowed eyes. "Where is it?"

Eva began shaking her head. "No, no, no…" she mumbled. "Maya, no…"

As Mark and Nick tried to calm Eva down, PJ grabbed Amy's wrist tenderly and pulled her aside. He looked at her worriedly. "Maya's going for a third attempt," he told her, his voice calm, but his eyes betraying his true terror. "She's obviously not going to try for us here, so she's got to be going after Ringo or Dash."

"Ringo's at the pub," Amy mused, biting her thumbnail absentmindedly. "He's getting the lunches. We'd better get onto him, tell him to get inside as soon as possible." She frowned as she remembered where Dash was. "What about Dash? She's at her brother's, picking Phoebe up. Maya knows about Charlie, she knows here he lives. What if she's gone after her?"

PJ's eyes grew wide momentarily, before he regained control over himself. "I'll put an alert out over the radio," he explained, nodding to himself. "We've just got to pray that Ringo and Dash can get out of the firing line in time."

* * *

Dash tried to regather her thoughts as she waited for Charlie to answer the door. She'd panicked after the shooting incidents. Overreacted, perhaps. Logic told her that Phoebe was probably safer at her brother's, away from Maya Reeves, but maternal instinct had driven her out here to bring her daughter back to the station.

She hadn't come any closer to regathering her frazzled mind when Charlie finally opened the door, beaming at her from behind his outdated glasses. "Dash!" he chimed, opening his arms to embrace her, only to find his welcoming ignored.

"I need to take Phoebe back to the station," she told him firmly, her voice only softening as her little girl came running down the hallway to greet her. She pulled Phoebe up into her arms, kissing her soft forehead with all the love of a protective mother. Like Charlie's welcome, she ignored Phoebe's ramblings.

Charlie stared at her blankly as she headed back to the car. "Why?" he demanded gently, shrugging. "We were having a great time and you know I don't mind spending time with my gorgeous little niece…"

"I'll tell you later," Dash snapped in reply as she headed back to her car. Charlie's puzzled questions drowned out the sound of a firearm being cocked nearby. She didn't even realise that there was anyone else around until she heard the sound of a gunshot and caught a fleeting glimpse of the bullet racing in her direction.

* * *

The hospital corridor was little more than a blur to Dash as she raced along beside the gurney, trying desperately to keep hold of the little hand of her daughter. She was only vaguely aware of the ambos either side of her barking orders to one another and didn't even realise that Zoe Hamilton had appeared until she heard her voice.

"What on earth is going on here?" Zoe felt her words vanish within her throat as she recognised the tiny figure within the bed, an oxygen mask held over her face and blood streaming from a wound on her upper right arm. "Phoebe McKinley?"

One of the ambos spoke up. "Phoebe McKinley, three years old, gunshot wound to upper right arm," he explained. "We think it might just be a flesh wound, but there has been heavy blood loss."

Zoe leant in as the ambos stopped wheeling the gurney along, carefully lifting the thick white towel that had been pressed against the wound. The blood had soaked right through. She frowned as she surveyed it. "Take her through to resus," she ordered and the ambos began wheeling again.

Dash tried to cling to Phoebe's hand, but was stopped by the strong arms of her brother. "Stop, stop," he told her as he pulled her away, holding her to his chest. "Let them do their jobs."

She shook her head as hysterical sobs escaped her lips. "I can't lose her, Charlie, I can't lose her!" she wailed as she turned back towards him. She stared wide-eyed at her blood-stained hands, before finally burying her head in his shoulder. Her heart felt as though it was tying itself in knots in her chest. She just wanted it all to end - the agony of knowing what her daughter was facing and the guilt of knowing that she'd put her in danger in the first place.

* * *

PJ sat back in his office chair, fingers intertwined behind his head, eyes closed. If he'd known what kind of turn the day would take, he probably would have stayed in bed. They knew Maya Reeves was responsible and had Eva's word that she'd let them know if she saw her granddaughter, but he knew that wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough to stop Phoebe McKinley from being shot. He felt his heart sink at the thought. She was only three years old and she was being caught up in one woman's vendetta against the police. Charlie had called the station to let them know what had happened and promised to keep them up-to-date because it was very clear that Dash was simply in no fit state to do so herself.

His eyes shot open as Amy entered the office, combing strands of her fringe back from her eyes. Her hopeless expression said it all long before she ever did. "Crime Scene has been through the McKinley property with a fine tooth comb," she explained as she sank back at the desk opposite him. "Maya Reeves was very tidy this time. They didn't even find tyre tracks."

"She had time to be tidy," PJ mused thoughtfully. "Dash and Charlie would have been too preoccupied with Phoebe's injuries to even think about where Maya was. She could have driven off slowly and they would never have noticed."

Amy nodded grimly as she buried her face in her hands. "We can't chase her," she told him as she finally lifted her head and began to bite her bottom lip distractedly. "She's always one step ahead of us. She's been watching us for months, she knows just about everything she needs to catch us out. She knows when we're at our weakest."

PJ frowned in agreement. "That's why she played on Nick and Dash's preoccupation with their kids and the relative security you and Ringo thought you had at the station," he mumbled. Sitting forward, he let out a groan of frustration. "We have to do something. She's already tried three times, there'll be a fourth and we might not be so lucky next time."

"But what?" she asked him, shaking her head despondently. "We can't count on Maya going home. That might not be for hours and we're still in danger. And it's not even just us – anyone around us becomes a target." Suddenly, her face lit up. "I've got an idea!" she declared as she leapt to her feet.

PJ's eyes widened in surprise. Amy began to pace the length of the CI office, nodding as she put the final pieces of her plan into place in her mind. Finally, PJ just shrugged. "So are you just going to pace or are you actually going to tell me?" he demanded.

She smiled as she stopped pacing and turned to him. Something about the look on her face worried PJ. Despite the smile, it carried the same grim determination as it had the day she had decided to bring down Kelly O'Rourke's rapist by offering herself as bait. Whatever her plan was, he got the feeling that he wasn't going to like it very much.

"Well," she began as she sat herself down on PJ's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his lips tenderly. "If we can't go to Maya, then we're just going to have to get Maya to come to us."

* * *

The hot afternoon sun poured in through the windscreen, making Nick too warm for the old grey jacket he was wearing. Too dazed by Phoebe McKinley's shooting to argue, Mark had agreed to Amy's undercover operation. However, he hadn't allowed Amy or PJ to offer themselves as bait – rather, Mark had decided that he'd be the one. He was waiting in the front yard of his home, pretending to paint, while Amy and PJ waited inside the house. Nick and Ringo were waiting in an unmarked car further up the road, ready to alert the others as soon as they saw Maya Reeves' car. They were all in casual clothes, even Amy. It simply wasn't worth their lives for Maya to realise what was really going on.

Ringo was sitting beside him; eyes squinted behind his sunglasses. His concentration was so intense that it almost scared Nick. He wanted to try to snap Ringo out of it for the sake of some conversation, but every time he went to try, he remembered what he'd read about his mother's murder. Vicky Barnett had been gunned down in cold blood when Ringo was just six months old, the victim of a hostage negotiation gone horribly wrong.

Finally, he decided to wave his hand in front of Ringo's face. It took three passes for the Probationary Constable to jolt back to reality. "Sarge?" he asked in alarm, obviously flustered. "The…the car didn't pass us already, did it?"

"No, no, you're right, mate," Nick told him with a chuckle as he shifted his weight in the car seat. "Just wanted to make sure you were still awake."

"I was…I was just concentrating," Ringo explained, running a slightly trembling hand back through his dark hair. Nick didn't buy this whatsoever, and fixed his charge with a cool stare. It worked – Ringo was prompted to continue. "I wish I was like you," he confessed finally.

Nick stared at him blankly. "Like me?"

Ringo nodded in affirmation. "Like you," he repeated quietly. "I wish I didn't feel anything."

Blinking in confusion, Nick shook his head. "Why?"

The Probationary Constable sighed despondently as he removed his sunglasses to massage the bridge of his nose and finally gave Nick the chance to survey the tiny tears that glistened there. "You were shot at too," he pointed out. "And so was Amy, but…but you guys are okay…you guys don't seem to feel so…so…"

"Terrified?" Nick supplied with a knowing and reassuring smile. "Helpless? Angry? Stop me when you hear the word you're after."

"All of the above," Ringo explained, setting his sunglasses upon the dashboard as he buried his face in his hands. He hunched over, his body beginning to shake as frustrated sobs escaped his lips. "That moment just keeps playing over and over and over in my head and I just want it to stop."

Nick nodded as he sat back, momentarily closing his eyes against the sun's glare. Finally, he chuckled. "It's doing the same thing to me. I keep thinking about this stupid girl and the fact that she nearly took Zoe's husband away…she nearly took my boys' father away." He paused for a long moment. "You know, it says nothing against you if you decide to get some counselling…"

"No!" The word let Ringo's lips so quickly that it startled Nick. The Sergeant raised an eyebrow as he surveyed his younger officer bemusedly. Ringo felt compelled to continue. "It just…it just makes me feel like such a girl…a failure…like maybe I'm not good enough…"

"Don't be stupid, Starry," Nick told him firmly, clapping him on the shoulder as he shuffled in the car seat. "Of course you're good enough. We've all been here at some point. In fact, you're probably luckier than most. When I was in your shoes about twenty years ago, the only counselling I got was a hangover from my colleagues getting me drunk."

Ringo nodded understandingly. He'd heard that once upon a time, getting someone drunk was deemed the best way for them to deal with trauma from the job. "How did you cope?" he queried, not really daring to raise his voice.

Frowning distractedly, Nick shrugged. "I don't know, really. I guess I just accumulated so many good memories about the job that I stopped thinking about it. But I should have gotten counselling. There are a lot of coppers out there who are really messed up because they didn't get offered counselling, or they were and just didn't take it because they didn't want to appear 'weak'."

"Do you really think that talking to someone will help?" Ringo asked, his voice becoming devoid of emotion as he thought Nick's comments over.

Nick paused for a long moment, before nodding. "Yeah, mate, I do," he replied as he offered Ringo a friendly smile. "Half an hour chatting to a police shrink has got to be better for you than a lifetime of being haunted by that memory. It doesn't make you weak, Starry. It makes you human. And, if you want me to be honest, the more human a copper is, the better copper they are."

"You think so?" A glimmer of hope crept into Ringo's voice as he spoke, and became apparent in his eyes as Nick nodded in reply.

"Of course! Robocops are seriously overrated; give me a good old human any day."

* * *

PJ sat back in the Jacobs' couch, frowning distractedly as he watched Amy fiddle with the radio unit. He couldn't help but admire the way she looked in her new outfit – a casual white top with dark jeans and a belt. Her hair had been swept back into a high ponytail and her fringe clipped back, so that only a few strands fell down to frame her face. She seemed to look even more beautiful without her suit, if that was at all possible.

She finally seemed to satisfy herself as she backed away from the radio to join him on the couch, staring at the heavy green curtains that were pulled shut across the window before letting out a thoughtful sigh. "I wish we could see what is going on out there," she lamented.

He shook his head firmly. "No way," he told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he pulled her in to kiss her forehead. "Too dangerous. Maya might see us, shoot for us instead. And this living room is too open to that window; we'd have next to nowhere we could move to in time."

Amy nodded in understanding as she let herself snuggle into his chest. She didn't want to get too comfortable, but it was hard not to. She finally spoke, hoping to keep her mind alert and on task. "After we've nabbed Maya," she began, "someone should go over to the hospital. We should find out how that teacher's going, catch up with Dash, you know."

"Yeah, I know," PJ replied with a nod as he kissed Amy's forehead again. As the silence fell over them, he knew he had his chance. He had to ask her about her comment about grandmothers and granddaughters – it had simply been said with too much emotion for it not to be personal. "You said something earlier…"

She laughed at his ambiguity, but a worried look crossed her face. She knew exactly what he wanted to talk about and she wasn't entirely comfortable with it. But she knew that if PJ really wanted to know, then no amount of changing the subject would stop him. "The comment about grandmothers knowing about their granddaughters, right?"

PJ nodded again as his expression grew solemn. "You were talking about your own grandmother, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was," she admitted quietly, snuggling in closer to his chest. "My paternal grandparents were both dead by the time I was seven, and my maternal grandfather died before I was born, but…I had my maternal grandmother, my Nan. I saw a lot of her when I was growing up."

A tiny smile spread across PJ's face at the distant, glazed look in Amy's eyes. He knew she was remembering a part of her childhood that she didn't hate, a person she had dearly loved and who hadn't hurt her. "The two of you were close?"

Amy looked up to him, beaming as she nodded. "Very close," she replied. "Brendan and Damian weren't as close to Nan – they still had both of Aunt Sally's parents and saw a lot more of them. My Dad's parents were up in Sydney, so I only ever saw them once or twice when they came down to visit. But Nan only lived in the next suburb." A light chuckle escaped her lips. "She had a heart attack about a week before my eighth birthday. Mum and Dad wanted her to move in after that, but she refused. She was too independent, fiercely so, in fact."

"Did you see much of her after your parents were killed?" PJ queried gently, rubbing Amy's shoulder reassuringly.

She frowned in remembrance. The pleasant smile was slowly beginning to fade into the usual distracted stare that crossed her face whenever the abuse came up. "Not as much," she explained. "Aunt Sally didn't like her. The feeling was mutual, as far as I remember. Nan wanted custody of me after the car crash, but Uncle John and Aunt Sally refused. They said something about her being so old that I'd end up back with them within six months when she eventually died."

A sudden thought struck PJ and he asked the question long before logic kicked in. "Did she know about the abuse?"

Amy looked to him in surprise, before she eventually nodded. "I was thirteen when she eventually spoke to me about it," she replied. "I think she'd known for months – she kept shooting Uncle John these really cold glares and…and I walked in on her arguing with Aunt Sally once. Neither of them would ever tell me what it was about." She paused, little tears glistening in her eyes. "I was spending the weekend at Nan's house when she decided we should order in some pizza. We ate it on the couch and…and she asked me if Uncle John had ever touched me inappropriately."

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth," Amy replied with a shrug. "At that stage, I still had some stupid idea that Uncle John loved me, but…but some part of me knew that it had to be wrong. I didn't like what he was doing to me, Peej. I told Nan the truth and she told me that I never had to put up with that again. She told me that she'd drop me home on Monday, I'd get my stuff together and leave for school on Tuesday and…and then she'd pick me up and take me away from it all." She began shaking her head as the tears became stronger. "I really thought it was over, Peej. But it wasn't. The phone rang at two in the morning on the Tuesday – she'd suffered a stroke and died in her sleep."

As Amy had been speaking, PJ's grip on her had tightened absentmindedly. He buried his face in her hair for a brief moment as he tried to take it in. She could have gotten away. Someone had reached out to her during the abuse and, just as Amy could have gotten away from it, some cruel twist of fate had intervened. He finally lifted his head and kissed her forehead tenderly.

"I think Aunt Sally knew what Nan had been planning," she continued, almost breathlessly. She was sobbing hard now and her breathing only came in gasps in between the desperate sobs. "She knew what was happening and…and she died before she could do anything about it!"

PJ let his hands slide up from her waist until he was cupping her cheeks in his hands. Tears of sympathy slid down his own face as he stared lovingly into her eyes. "Your Nan would be happy to see you now, Amez," he told her as her sobbing began to ease slightly. "She just wanted you to feel safe and wanted and loved and in control. You may have taken the long way round, but you've got everything she ever wanted for you. She'd be proud, just like your parents would be. We're all proud of you, Amy."

Her lit up with a teary smile that took PJ's breath away. She gently reached out to wipe at his tears. Her heart lifted at the smile on PJ's face. "I'm not afraid now, PJ," she told him as she leant in to press her lips tenderly against his. "I can't be. Not with you by my side."

_If only for today_

_I am unafraid_

_Take my breath away_

Their tender moment could have lasted an eternity, if not for Nick Schultz's voice sounding from the radio Amy had been adjusting just minutes before. "Oi, I hope you two rabbits have clothes on, because the bird's coming for the worm."

"Perfect bloody timing," PJ groaned as Amy leapt to her feet. He remained on the couch, for a split second amazed by how quickly Amy had moved into action when, just seconds before, she had been so lost in the past.

She mopped at her eyes hurriedly as she snatched up the radio. "Get here as quick as you can," she told him firmly. "We're going to need all the back up we can get."

PJ grabbed the two gun belts from the nearby coffee table, pulling his around his waist as he tossed Amy hers. As Amy began to pull hers on, Nick's reply rang out. "Over and out, Foxtrot!"

"Foxtrot?" PJ enquired as he moved to the door, carefully lifting the curtain aside. There was no sign yet of the Corolla – just Mark standing in the front yard, dabbing at a canvas with a paintbrush soaked in blue. Amy drew up behind him, shifting her weight urgently from foot to foot, ready to move at a second's notice. "You really didn't score the most tease-free surname, did you?"

Amy chuckled weakly as PJ turned back for a brief glance. Her eyes were already looking less red and her expression less grief-stricken. "No, I didn't," she agreed. "But at least 'Foxtrot' is a little more original than 'Foxy'. Nick must have put a lot of thought into that one."

PJ laughed in reply, but was quickly distracted as he noticed a red Toyota Corolla move into view. Behind the wheel was the girl they had seen in the photographs at Eva Reeves' house and resting on her lap was a shotgun. About two seconds behind her was Nick and Ringo.

PJ threw open the door and he and Amy stepped out into the yard, guns drawn. "Police, don't move!" he hollered as Mark began to fumble through his brown coat, desperately trying to find the gun that had been concealed there. Panic ran through PJ as his gaze shifted from Mark back to Maya, who was raising the shotgun. "Put the weapon down now!"

Nick and Ringo threw themselves out of the car, Ringo almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry. Nick tried to move around to Maya's side of the car, but was immediately halted when she fired. The officers watched in horror as the bullet struck Mark in the shoulder, knocking him off his feet. Without a second thought, Ringo raced to Mark's side, surveying his Senior Sergeant while the others continued to advance on the car.

Nick reached the other side of the car, pulling the door open with such force that he could have easily pulled it off. Maya seemed so focused on trying to get an aim on Amy and PJ that she didn't realise Nick was there until he grabbed her, pulling her out of the car and away from her gun.

Maya kicked wildly at the air as she screamed. "Let me go! Let me go, you pig bastard!"

"Not likely," Nick grumbled as he forced Maya to the ground and pulled her arms behind her back. He slammed the hand cuffs on as PJ and Amy approached, a grim smile on their faces.

"Maya Reeves," PJ began, clearing his throat loudly. "You are under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon, assault police and multiple attempted murder charges."

Amy nodded as Maya let her angry glare shift from PJ to her. "And you'd better start praying that none of those attempted murder charges have to be upgraded, Miss Reeves, or you'll never get out."

* * *

Ringo moved away from the door to the interview room as PJ and Amy entered, both glaring down at the young woman seated at the table. Maya's anger had only grown, if that was at all possible, until it practically radiated from her body. She glared up at the police officers harshly. "You're all bastards, the lot of you!" she cried, before turning to Amy. "And you and that other chick are total bitches."

They didn't reply to Maya's rants. Instead, PJ moved over to the tape recorder and switched it on. "Tape recorded interview between Senior Detective Hasham and Maya Reeves. Also present are Senior Detective Fox and Probationary Constable Barnett…"

"This is bullshit!" Maya snapped, folding her arms resolutely. "First you lock my brother up on some bullshit charge, and now you're after me…" Ringo couldn't help but roll his eyes at this, something that didn't go unnoticed by Maya. She turned to glower at him fiercely, but Ringo spoke before she got the chance to continue.

"Your brother was going to deal that stuff to schoolkids," he reminded her bitterly. "And nothing excuses what you did. You could have killed people. People who have family and friends and people who'll miss them…"

Maya scoffed at this. "And you don't think I miss Kane?! He's stuck in a cell!"

Ringo moved in closer, until he was standing right beside Maya's chair. She stared up at him coldly as he spoke. "At least he's alive," he told her, the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "Take it from someone who lost their mother to a gun-toting lunatic like you…nothing justifies taking another human life like that. Nothing except self-defence."

Still standing hesitantly by the door, PJ finally moved forward, grabbing Ringo's shoulder gently. "Mate, maybe you should get out of here," he told him pointedly. "I think you've had enough of this for today. Go over to the hospital, check up on Jane Halliwell, Phoebe and the Boss, alright?"

For a moment, Ringo went to say no, but quickly changed his mind. He was too emotionally involved and this was not the place for him. He nodded and slipped out of the door. As Ringo's footsteps died away, PJ and Amy sat down opposite Maya.

"Probationary Constable Barnett has left the room," PJ declared for the sake of the tape, before turning back to Maya. "We saw your room," he told her. "It's pretty sick what you've been doing; spying on us…"

Maya didn't reply, instead she chuckled. "Detective Hasham," she said with a smile, "you've certainly made improvements in physiotherapy since you threw my brother away. You were on crutches last time. Couldn't have been more than a couple of weeks out of that wheelchair, at the most."

"Miss Reeves," Amy told her warningly. "These are very serious charges. That school teacher you shot was in serious danger last time we checked. You shot and injured a two year old girl and you've shot a Senior Sergeant of police. I've never been on the wrong side of the law before, but I can tell you now that juries generally don't like that sort of thing."

"You've ruined my brother's life!" Maya exclaimed, pounding the table in frustration.

PJ shook his head grimly. "No, Maya," he replied coolly. "Kane did a fine enough job of that on his own. We just stopped him from taking a bunch of innocent people down with him. You stalked us, you planned out these attacks and you weren't going to stop until you had a few dead officers. What were you going to do then, Maya? Run for the rest of your life, or were you planning on just letting us get you and spending it in prison?"

She shook her head. "You're all the bloody same," she grumbled. "All corrupt, all brutal bastards and bitches that don't care who you hurt just as long as you look good."

Amy frowned as she leant across the table. She shook her head at Maya's words. "There are some officers out there who are like that; I'm not even going to try to pretend that there aren't. I've been on the receiving end of a few of them myself. You ever heard of a man called Lloyd Johnson?"

Maya was puzzled for a moment, before she nodded hesitantly. She didn't know why she was trusting Amy, perhaps it was just something about her tone. "Wasn't he some corrupt Homicide big gun?"

"Yeah, he was," Amy replied. PJ could see that little tears were filling Amy's eyes and threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. In other circumstances, he would have bundled her up and pulled her against his chest until the tears were gone, but he couldn't. Not in the middle of an interview. "I was on the receiving end of his brutality for a month. That was the worst month of my life and that's saying something. But we're not all like that. We charged your brother because he was guilty. If he wasn't guilty, we wouldn't have charged him. I understand that you're upset, but blaming every decent police officer and going out to kill people is not the answer. Probationary Constable Barnett was right; nothing justifies what you've done."

Maya was crying as she lowered her head. The stress and frustration and anger had finally reached boiling point and there was nothing left for her to do but let the tears roll.

PJ drew in a deep breath, a little astonished at the results Amy had gotten. "Maya Reeves, you are being charged with assault with a deadly weapon, assault police and four counts of attempted murder. You'll be remanded in custody and taken to St. Davids police station. Is there anything else you'd like to say in response to these charges?"

Nodding, Maya raised her head slowly. "Yeah," she told them in a hoarse whisper. "I only wanted to kill police. I didn't mean to hurt the teacher or the kid."

* * *

Every footstep Dash took along the empty hospital corridor seemed to strike another pain through her heart. The Styrofoam cup of coffee in her hands was too hot and, if terror hadn't muddled up her instincts, she would have dropped it long before. Charlie had sent her off to find herself some coffee, seemingly under the belief that the caffeine Dash usually rejected on health grounds would do her some good. She hadn't agreed with him, but hadn't had the emotional strength to argue.

As she passed the pale green curtains that blocked the resus cubicle – and her little girl – from view, she paused. She could hear a painfully familiar voice coming from within, but it was strained and choking. For a long moment, she considered continuing on. She knew the voice belonged to Adam Cooper and the last thing she wanted was to speak to him. But she couldn't just keep walking. If nothing else, she wanted a peak at her daughter.

"I made some mistakes," Adam whispered as Dash slowly and silently pulled the curtains open a crack. If he had heard her, Adam chose to ignore her.

As she peered through into the cubicle, she could see Phoebe lying still on the gurney. Her usually bright and bubbly eyes were closed and matted brown hair fell limply over her forehead and back across the pillow. Her blood-stained clothes lay in a brown paper bag on a nearby sink, replaced by a pastel pink hospital gown. Around the top of her arm, a thick white bandage had been wrapped, a faint red stain betraying the bullet wound. It took all her power not to gasp in horror at the sight.

"I should never have hurt your mum like that," Adam continued, raising his hand to brush the fringe back from Phoebe's forehead as he sat at her bedside. His other hand was clasped tightly around Phoebe's tiny one. "She loved me so much and I hurt her. I never meant to. I just…I just never thought I could hate myself as much as I hated myself after the tsunami." His voice broke off momentarily, the grief for his son returning to him with a sharpness that broke Dash's heart. "I know this will never make much sense to your mum. I know she'll never understand what went through my head the day she told me about you. I don't expect you to ever understand, either. I wanted so much to tell her how excited I was about having a baby with her. Because…I guess I'd wanted a family with her all along, ever since I first fell in love with those gorgeous eyes of hers. But I just couldn't tell her. I just couldn't destroy the two of you like I destroyed April and Wade."

He paused for what seemed to be the longest time, while Dash found herself mopping at her tears with her hand. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember why she didn't want Adam in Phoebe's life.

A distant smile spread across Adam's face as he continued to play with Phoebe's hair. "One day – if your mum will ever let me, of course – I'm going to tell you about Wade," he promised gently. "I'll tell you everything about your big brother. And I'll tell you how much he would have loved you, because I know he would have. He always wanted a little sister."

Suddenly, Dash's silent tears became less controllable, until finally a hiccough left her lips. Adam jumped in alarm at the sound, spinning to face her. His face relaxed momentarily, only to be replaced by uncertainty seconds later. "How long have you been there?" he queried hesitantly.

"Long enough to hear you telling Phoebe about how much you love her," she replied quietly, slipping inside the curtains. She was careful to keep her voice soft as she spoke, knowing that Zoe was likely to lynch them if she caught them invading in upon 'her territory'. "How is she?"

Adam recognised Dash's anguish instantly and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "She's doing well," he told her. "It was just a flesh wound and Zoe's got the bleeding stopped. She's just organising some painkillers for when Phoebe regains consciousness."

"So…she won't need surgery or…or…" Dash found herself stepping absentmindedly closer to Adam as she spoke, her knees threatening to give way beneath her with each stop she took.

He shook his head. "She should be fine. I mean, it'll scar a little, but…"

Not needing to hear anymore, Dash approached Phoebe, crouching down to kiss her daughter's forehead tenderly. While Dash was preoccupied, the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. Adam silently steered Dash out of the cubicle and back out into the corridor.

"Zoe?" she asked him.

He nodded. "She knows how bloody stubborn you are," he told her with a playful grin as he led her away from the cubicle and, as Dash soon realised, further away from Charlie. "She didn't want you anywhere near that resus cubicle until she said so."

Dash nodded in understanding. Suddenly feeling quite unable to remain standing, she collapsed back against the wall. It was almost a minute before she could muster the courage to meet Adam's eyes. "Did you mean all of that?"

Adam nodded again. "Of course I did," he told her firmly. "I've always loved you." As he spoke, he reached out to cup her cheek in his head. For a moment, Dash's face contorted, as though his touch physically pained her, but her expression soon changed to one of longing. "You're the only woman I've ever really wanted, Dash and I can't lose you. You only get one soul mate."

The words seemed to echo through the corridor as Dash's heart screamed in delight. She'd always secretly wanted to hear those words escape Adam's lips. "Soul mate," she repeated, in awe of the way it sounded.

"Yes," he told her, his voice ringing with a romantic conviction that made her heart flutter. "You're my soul mate, Dash McKinley. You always have been and always will be. I'd never do anything to hurt you again and I'd never hurt our little girl. If you can give me one more chance, I'll have everything I could have ever wanted."

_You were everything, everything_

_That I wanted_

_We were meant to be, supposed to be_

Dash had heard enough. She threw herself upon Adam, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. They fit together perfectly, as though they were a jigsaw puzzle. A warm feeling welled within her and she recognised it instantly. It was the safety she had always wanted from Adam. "I can't fight this anymore, Adam," she confessed quietly. "It's too hard to fight how much I love you."

His reply was simple as he leant in to kiss her tenderly. "Then don't."

Dash was smiling as Adam pulled away seconds later. She quickly pressed her lips against his hard, pulling him closer as her hunger for him grew. Some part of her understood that this was it. There was no more betrayal, no more fighting, no more separation. Just them and their little family. And suddenly, life seemed almost perfect.

* * *

Zoe slipped into the counter at the hospital, tiredly combing her dark curls back from her face. She had been doing this job for years and still marvelled at how on earth she could ever manage it, especially now she had the twins and Nick to worry about. But she wouldn't have life any other way. This was her definition of perfection.

As she lowered her hand, she caught sight of a young male entering through the glass doors. A relaxed smile spread across her face. "Ringo, hi," she greeted him, relieved to see that he easily returned her smile. That meant nothing else could have gone wrong.

"Hi, Doctor Hamilton," he replied, wringing his hands uneasily in front of his stomach. Despite his smile, there was a strange air of nervousness about him. "I…I just came to check up on everyone…"

Zoe nodded in understanding. "Well, Phoebe's fine," she explained, her eyes sparkling a little as she spoke. "It was just a flesh wound. She's with Dash and Adam now. God only knows why Adam's so interested…"

Ringo opened his mouth, automatically wanting to reply. But he quickly closed his mouth again, although he knew full well that Nick would tell her about Dash and Adam that night.

"As for Jane Halliwell…" Zoe continued. "Well…" She paused, until she caught sight of a young male nurse with spiky blonde hair heading out into the waiting room. "Ah, Kyle!"

Kyle's head snapped up, his expression strangely blank as he regarded Zoe. "Yes?"

"Jane Halliwell?" Zoe said as she folded her arms against her chest. "She was stable after surgery, but I haven't been able to get back to her since Phoebe McKinley was brought in. How is she?"

Kyle's face suddenly paled. Zoe almost seemed to read his thoughts, because her face grew dark instantly. It took Kyle a few seconds to gather his thoughts sufficiently to reply. "She crashed almost an hour ago," he explained in a kind of monotone. "We tried to bring her back, but…she'd been down for three-quarters of an hour and her pupils were fixed and dilated…"

Zoe nodded slowly as she looked away from Kyle and back to Ringo. Realising that his presence was no longer required, Kyle moved away. Ringo suddenly became very sombre. "She's dead?" he queried, his words more of a statement than a question.

Again, Zoe nodded. "Yeah," she replied in a strangely meek voice. "She's dead. We're going to have to tell her family…and her students…my boys are going to be devastated, they treated her like dirt, but they really liked her…"

Ringo remained respectfully silent for a long moment. Finally, he spoke again. "And the Boss?"

Zoe seemed surprised at this new title for Mark, but quickly pushed it to the back of her mind. "Thank God he was wearing a bullet proof vest under that shirt of his," she replied as her face regained some of its colour and her eyes some of their sparkle. "He's got a nasty bruise, but he'll survive. You can go in and see him if you'd like, I'm just waiting for some painkillers to kick in before I have him discharged."

Offering Zoe a grateful smile, Ringo disappeared off down the corridor, only to remember seconds later that he'd never asked where Mark was. He turned back to ask, only for Zoe to anticipate his question.

"Room 10," she told him and, flushing bright red with embarrassment, Ringo disappeared again.

* * *

Mark was sitting up in bed when Ringo entered, his shirt unbuttoned and an icepack held to a large red mark on his chest. He looked up as Ringo closed the door behind him, offering him a pained smile. "Zoe reckons that this isn't as bad as it feels," he told his younger charge, chuckling weakly. "I hope she's right, because this kills."

"Doctor Hamilton's rarely wrong," Ringo offered in reassurance.

Mark nodded thoughtfully as he lowered the icepack, wincing in pain as he looked to the mark on his chest. "That's going to leave one hell of a bruise," he commented, before looking back to Ringo. "I gather Amy and PJ are going at Maya Reeves like attack dogs?"

Ringo shrugged. "Maybe," he replied dismally. "I got too emotional, so they told me to leave."

"We all get emotional sometimes," Mark explained, turning back to his injury as he returned the icepack to his chest. He didn't look up again as he continued to speak. "It proves we're human. The moment we stop listening to our heart is the same moment we stop being effective police officers. Some of us have learnt that one the hard way."

Confusion passed across Ringo's face. "What do you mean, Boss?"

Mark frowned as he finally looked away from his chest, focusing blankly on the wall behind Ringo before finally daring himself to meet the young man's eyes. "I had been in the job for just over thirty years when I got the posting to Mt. Thomas," he explained. "I'd seen the way that policing had changed. When I first joined the force, it was pretty commonplace to give a crook a bit of a thump if you got too annoyed with them. But times changed, and so did I. I'm not saying that I'm proud of the old days, because I'm not, but…but a time came when I stopped becoming emotionally involved. All I saw was rules, regulations and a need to stay completely detached. It had destroyed my ability to be an effective police officer."

"What changed when you came here?" Ringo asked quietly as he slipped over to sit on the edge of Mark's bed.

For the longest time, Mark remained silent. Finally, he shrugged. "For a long time, nothing changed. But when Tom Croydon was killed – your father might have told you about him – I was thrown into the deep end and had to work out how to swim. My colleagues looked to me for leadership and guidance and I had to find some way of filling Tom Croydon's shoes. Somewhere along the way, I found myself becoming involved in what happened around me. Police work stopped being about paperwork and started being about people. It might be a bit more painful that way, but it's the only way we can really stay true to ourselves and the people we're trying to help." He chuckled as he realised how long he had been talking. "If that makes any sense."

Ringo nodded slowly. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "I think it does."

* * *

Nick was surprised by the silence as he headed towards the mess room, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. It was extremely unusual for his boys to be this quiet; normally it was near impossible to keep their bickering down to a dull roar. He gently pushed the door open, wincing automatically at the creak.

Inside, he could see Travis and Trevor, heads lying on the table, eyes closed as they slept. Travis' opened lazily at the sound of the door and a hoarse whisper escaped his lips. "Dad?"

Travis' voice was all it took to wake Trevor, who soon began to climb to his feet. Travis followed him as he headed for his father, and the pair wrapped their arms around Nick's waist.

"Will Miss Halliwell be okay?" Trevor asked, looking up at Nick with pleading eyes. For a long time, Nick couldn't answer. The desperate looks upon his sons' faces were too painful to comprehend.

Finally, he shook his head as he crouched down to their level. "No, mate," he replied, ruffling Trevor's hair as he pulled him close to his right shoulder. Seconds later, he pulled Travis close as well. "Your Mum will be able to tell you more than I can, but…she's not going to be okay."

"Are you okay?" Travis queried, his voice wavering as it became unnaturally small. "You sound like you're going to cry."

Nick chuckled weakly as he held his sons closer. He found his mind drifting momentarily to the moment that he'd held two tiny infants in his arms, marvelling at the little miracles that he and Zoe had created. Any part of him that wanted to cry vanished at the realisation that his boys were still in his arms. "I'm alright," he replied soothingly. "We're alright, so I'm alright."

And, still holding his sons, he closed his eyes tightly and let a surge of relief run through him.

* * *

Next episode… "Family Matters"

Ringo's family troubles reach a climax when Pat Doyle returns to town, just as his father makes a surprise visit. Dash is forced to re-evaluate her life after receiving an offer too good to refuse.


	4. Ep 24: Family Matters

**Episode 24: "Family Matters"**

_Summary: Ringo's family troubles reach a climax when Pat Doyle returns to town, just as his father makes a surprise visit. Dash is forced to re-evaluate her life after receiving an offer too good to refuse._

**Part 1**

_Lyrics come from "Bring Me Back" and "Don't Love Too Long" by The Whitlams, "My Little Town" by Meredith Brooks and "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt._

The music almost seemed the bounce around the Imperial Hotel, carrying with it the bubbly, cheery voices of the police officers inside. Several helium-filled balloons bobbed up and down near the ceiling, long light-coloured streamers hanging down and brushing the tops of their heads. Except for Nick, who was constantly batting them away as they got in his face.

As Dash entered, Adam and Phoebe tagging along behind her, she did a little spin in approval of the music. "Ah!" she cried as she clutched the wrapped present tighter to her chest. "The Whitlams! Very nice!" She quickly caught sight of Amy and bounded over to the older woman.

Amy was sitting at the public bar, chatting easily with Chris. The two were apparently in the middle of a very amusing joke when Dash grabbed Amy tightly, pulling her into a rib-crushing hug. "Happy birthday, birthday girl!" she exclaimed.

Half-heartedly attempting to free herself from Dash's grip, Amy found herself laughing. Her emerald eyes glimmered as the younger officer finally pulled away and offered forth her gift. "You shouldn't have," she told her pointedly, before turning to Chris with a shaking head. "None of you should have."

"Rubbish!" Chris replied, folding her arms as she leaned forward for a better look at Amy's present. "You aren't getting away with not celebrating your birthday in this town. You managed to escape a party last year, but we won't let that happen ever again."

Amy rolled her eyes as she looked up to Adam, who was cradling a fidgety Phoebe in his arms. She was really getting too big to be held these days, she realised as her grin broadened, but she decided not to say so. It was obvious that Adam was attempting to make up for the years he had missed out on and she wasn't going to take that away from him. "Thanks, Adam."

"Don't thank me," he told her with a shrug. "Dash chose the present. Just don't blame me if you don't like it."

"It'll be fine, I'm sure," she reassured him as she finally looked down to the present in her hands. It was rectangular in shape and fairly thin. The paper was beautiful – a deep night-sky blue that was dotted with little white stars. It was wrapped with a baby-blue ribbon that had been tied into an elaborate bow and a small white envelope had been slipped underneath. She retrieved the envelope and read through the card quickly before pulling the ribbon loose and carefully pulling back the paper. Sitting within the paper was a DVD – the film _Life is Beautiful_. "Thanks…" she gasped.

Dash suddenly became a little uneasy. "Yeah," she explained with a nervous smile. "I couldn't really decide what to get you, so I figured that maybe a movie would be the way to go…" At Amy's stunned silence, her nervous smile quickly faded. "I mean…if you don't like, I could take it back…"

"No, no!" Amy exclaimed, finally looking up as tiny tears glistened in her eyes. "I love it! I saw this film when it first came out and I've always been meaning to buy the video or DVD. Thank you." With this, she carefully set the book and wrapping paper on the public bar and offered Dash a grateful hug. "It's perfect."

At this moment, the door opened again and this time Mark Jacobs entered, a small violet-coloured bag hanging from his right hand. His gaze shot to Chris quickly before he headed over to join Amy, Dash and Adam. As Dash pulled away from Amy, Mark craned his neck to have a look at the DVD.

"I saw that once," he commented thoughtfully. "It's not bad."

Laughing weakly, Dash motioned off towards the pool table, where PJ, Nick, Zoe and Ringo were bickering over what appeared to be a very contentious game. "We'd better go referee that match, Adam," she told him. "The last thing we need is a bar brawl on Amy's birthday."

As Dash and Adam headed off, Phoebe still squirming in her father's arms, Mark invited himself to sit down beside Amy. Chris offered the pair a smile before slipping away to the dining room, leaving the two alone. "So…" Mark began with chuckle. "Feeling any older?"

Amy frowned thoughtfully, before shaking her head. "Not really," she replied. "Turning thirty-four is actually a lot easier than turning thirty-three was. Then again, I've had a much better day than I did last year." Mark nodded in understanding. Feeling a little uneasy with the direction the discussion was taking; Amy began eyeing off the bag in Mark's hand. "So…do I get that present or not?"

"Oh, of course!" Mark told her, offering the bag out to Amy. She took it eagerly and gently lifted out what was inside. It was a pair of purple and blue long stripy socks.

A slightly perplexed expression crossed her face. "Oh…Boss…they're…"

Mark was laughing when she looked back up to him. He shook his head as PJ finally abandoned the pool game and came over, raising his eyebrows at the socks in Amy's hands. "Socks?" PJ queried, taking them from Amy's hands.

"I'm still getting you guys back for that Christmas," he explained as he climbed to feet, just as Chris returned. Instantly, Chris started laughing. She clearly remembered the Christmas that every officer had given Mark socks.

Amy's lips twisted into a smile as she took the socks back from PJ. They were soft and would probably be very comfortable. "Thanks Mark," she told him as he headed off to check in with the other officers. As soon as Mark had gone, PJ sat down on his stool. "I guess it's the thought that counts," she told PJ as she sat the socks back in the bag and placed it next to the DVD Dash had given her.

"Shame it's such a horrible thought," PJ replied.

Laughing, Amy hit him in the arm before a misty smile crossed her face. "It's been a weird year," she mused.

PJ snickered. "That's putting it lightly," he told her as his face attained the same misty quality as Amy's had. "Have you heard from Brendan?"

She groaned quietly as her smile faded completely and she covered her face in her hands. "Then again, I don't think we've changed that much," she mumbled. "I could have sworn we had this discussion a year ago…" He looked at her pointedly until she finally lowered her hands. "Not today," she replied. "Last time I spoke to him was a couple of weeks ago when he said that he and Chloe couldn't make the wedding."

"Do you think he's alright?" PJ asked her. She shrugged in reply.

"I don't know," she told him dismally, shaking her head. "I hope he is. I don't know if he's really thought much about the first anniversary of Megan's death. I was going to call him, but then Dash physically dragged me down here…"

PJ nodded, reaching out to close his hand around hers. He raised it to his lips, kissing it tenderly. The romantic gesture brought a bright smile across her face. "It'll be okay," he reassured her softly as he let his lips slowly move along her arm. "If Brendan's got even a fraction of your strength, he'll be more than okay."

Amy chuckled weakly, trying to hide the red blush in her face. Silence hung in the air for a long moment as they sat there, enjoying the electricity between them and listening to the song playing on Chris' CD player.

_You can see that I'm trying_

_But it doesn't come easily to me_

The door to the public bar opened so silently that even Chris didn't notice until the sound of a man's voice echoed throughout the Imperial. "It's bloody freezing out there!"

PJ's head snapped up, his eyes widening with the voice's familiarity. He spun towards the door, his face lighting up as the figure in the doorway slipped out of his thick brown jacket and moved into the public bar.

"Pat!" PJ exclaimed, only remembering at the last second to lower his voice. Ringo was just metres away and still thought of Pat as the criminal his father had described. Suddenly, PJ found himself wondering if Pat even knew that Ringo existed. He reached out to Pat, quite uncertain of the appropriate way to greet him, only to find the question answered when Pat wrapped his arms around him.

"It's good to see you back on your feet again," Pat told him, clapping PJ's back firmly. By the time he eventually pulled away from PJ, Amy had joined them, a nervous smile upon her lips. Things had changed so much since they'd last met that she didn't have a clue what to say. Finally, Pat spoke up for her as he reached out to shake her hand kindly. "It feels like it's been forever since I saw you."

Amy looked down to her feet for a moment, before looking up to offer Pat a bright smile. A sideways glance at PJ told her that he was happy to have Pat back in town, if not a little concerned about their youngest colleague. "Likewise," she replied, pulling her hand away from Pat's as she hurriedly pushed strands of her fringe back from her eyes.

"Anyway," Pat continued, laying his jacket over Chris' bar, earning himself a scowl from the red-headed publican in the process. "Looks like you guys are having a party. What's the occasion?"

Almost instantly, PJ was at Amy's side, slipping his hand around hers. "It's Amy's birthday," he explained.

Pat grinned as his gaze switched from PJ to Amy. "Ah…" he told them with a laugh. "Well, happy birthday then, Amy. Hopefully I'm not too late to get a decent slice of that cake." With this, he cast a hopeful glance at Chris, who simply shook her head as a smile crept across her lips.

"You're just in time to amaze us all with your singing abilities when we cut the cake," she replied, gesturing back towards the kitchen. "Jeannie's just putting the finishing touches on it now."

Pat grinned as he flopped down on a bar stool and passed a hand across his eyes. PJ's face suddenly registered concern. "Are you alright? You must be exhausted…"

"Don't be stupid," Pat snapped in response, lowering his hand as he regarded PJ. "I drove the caravan; I didn't push it." He chuckled momentarily at his own joke, before clearing his throat. "I'm just trying to defrost," he explained. "It's very easy to forget how bloody cold Victoria is when you've spent the last three months in Queensland."

"Patrick bloody Doyle!" Nick's voice rang out over the public bar as he sauntered over to the gathering, beer glass in his hand. He clapped Pat on the shoulder as he took up a stool next to him. "How is life as one of the grey nomads?"

Pat looked to Nick, for a brief moment surprised. He'd only met Nick on a handful of occasions and he'd very quickly forgotten what his sense of humour was like. "Nick Schultz," he grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. "So you're still here."

Nick grinned cheekily as the others began to abandon their game. "You see mate, I'm like a really bad cold – they just can't get rid of me."

"Ain't that the truth," Dash added, shifting Phoebe's weight in her arms as she drew level with Nick. Adam stood behind her, smiling weakly at the sight of Pat. "It's good to see you again, Pat."

From behind Zoe, Ringo paled. He didn't need to ask who Pat was. Something about the middle-aged man that his colleagues gathered around with strangely familiar, almost subconsciously familiar. It almost scared him. He was finally coming face to face with the uncle who he had heard so much about.

Pat looked up, originally hoping to greet the others. Instead, his eyes immediately darted to the young man behind them, the man whose face was almost ghostly pale and whose emerald eyes were glistening with horror. He knew the face instantly, although he'd never laid eyes upon this man before.

His mouth dropped open as his mind finally formulated a name. "Oh my God…" he mumbled, his lips moving so little that the words were hardly audible. Realising what had happened, Amy and PJ shared a worried glance before looking to Ringo.

Ringo had already disappeared, his footsteps echoing from the staircase in the silence of the public bar.

Nick frowned, drawing himself up to his full height as he surveyed the expression of shock on Pat's face and the expression of concern that Amy and PJ wore. "Someone want to enlighten me as to what the hell's going on?"

"No," PJ answered quickly, shaking his head. "No, we don't."

The awkwardness hovered for a long moment, until Mark cleared his throat loudly. "I, ah, think that pool game deserves a conclusion, don't you guys?" he told the others pointedly. Despite the fact that Nick, Dash, Adam and Zoe were clearly more interested in whatever had upset Ringo and Pat so badly, they nodded in agreement with Mark and reluctantly followed him back to the pool table.

Chris gently patted PJ's shoulder, causing him to spin to her in surprise. "You can take the Parlour, if you'd like," she told him as she nodded towards the closed door. "Is Ringo going to be alright?"

"I honestly don't know," PJ replied simply as Amy began leading Pat towards the Parlour. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to Chris. "Thanks, mate."

She offered him a hesitant smile in return. "No problem," she mumbled, more for her benefit than PJ's. As soon as the trio were gone, a perplexed expression crossed her face. She'd often wondered about where she'd known Ringo's face from, and it seemed that she was starting to get a few more pieces to try to fit in the puzzle.

* * *

Amy helped Pat into one of the lounge chairs of the Parlour as PJ closed the door behind them. The shell-shocked look still hadn't left Pat's face; if anything, he looked close to tears. His hands trembled slightly and it was several minutes before Pat's mind had cleared sufficiently for him to try to stop them. "Who the bloody hell is that kid?" he demanded finally, his voice scarcely more than a hoarse whisper.

Sitting down on the chair next to Pat, PJ pressed his palm to his mouth for a few seconds, before finally daring himself to reply. "His name is Ringo Barnett," he explained. "He's…he's our Probationary Constable. He's been with us for a few months now."

Pat's eyes widened with the name and his gaze switched quickly from PJ to Amy, who was sitting uneasily in the chair opposite. "Barnett…" he mused, shaking his head in disbelief. "Not…"

Amy nodded slowly. "Louis Barnett's kid," she finished for him. "Yeah, he is. Youngest of four, from what I've heard."

"Four?!" Pat demanded, nearly leaping off his chair in surprise. Almost as quickly, he sank back down. "Jesus, four of them…"

PJ waited for a long moment before he dared himself to speak. When he had finally mustered the courage, he found that all he had was a whisper. "We know about your sister, about Vicky."

Pat glared at PJ harshly for a few seconds, before his anger subsided and the stunned shock returned. "I haven't spoken to her since the day she told me she was marrying that bastard," he explained, not moving as he spoke. "We used to be so close…we did almost everything together. She may have been a woman, but Vicky was more like one of the boys than some of the blokes were."

Amy let a weak smile grace her lips. "How did this happen?"

For almost a minute, Pat couldn't reply. The words simply wouldn't come to express the agony of a past he'd thought long forgotten. Finally, he spoke in a voice that wavered and broke. "She fell in love with Louis Barnett," he replied with a shrug as tears began to cloud his eyes. "Suddenly everything was different."

_Over the years our thoughts were the same_

_Then in a minute she changed_

PJ shook his head in confusion. "Why?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in bewilderment. "Why would Vicky falling in love with Louis have made any difference to your bond? She was your little sister, you were her big brother. No relationship should have changed that."

Pat looked at PJ sadly for a long moment, before shaking his head. "Has there ever been anyone that you've truly hated? Anyone who has hurt you so much that nothing they can ever do can ever even come close to fixing it?"

"Of course," PJ answered quickly. "But…but Vicky was still your sister. What could Louis Barnett have done that was so bad that you would rather cut your ties with your sister than see him?"

An uneasy silence hovered over the Parlour, until Pat finally sighed and let his head fall back against the chair in despair. "He got away with murder," he finally told them, his voice sounding agonised with the pain of the memory.

It was several minutes before Amy could speak. "Got away with murder?" she queried, shaking her head in confusion. "What…what do you mean?" Even as she spoke, she wasn't certain that she wanted to hear the answer. She'd had enough close calls with murderous police officers to last a lifetime.

Pat looked at her thoughtfully, before turning to face PJ's inquisitive stare. "We used to work together," he explained, "back when we were young. Tom Croydon was there too." He paused, before shaking his head firmly. "Look, it doesn't matter. It's over now."

With this, Pat climbed to his feet, despite the blank stares of PJ and Amy. As he passed on the way to the door, his arm was grabbed by PJ. "Mate, you can't tell us that and then just walk away," he pointed out. "What's going on?"

Pat didn't reply to PJ's question. Instead, he let a low growl escape his lips. "Let…me…go…"

Surprised by the aggressive tone in Pat's voice, PJ relinquished his grip almost instantly. He still vividly remembered the night Pat had killed Mick – he wasn't stupid enough to anger a man who had been capable of that, no matter how much he looked up to him.

Released from PJ's grasp, Pat slipped out the door of the Parlour and back out to the others, who were waiting for him with perplexed expressions on their faces. Amy and PJ didn't move for a long moment, before Amy finally looked to her fiancé with an exasperated smile gracing her lips. "So much for a happy birthday," she told him quietly.

PJ returned her half-hearted smile as he slowly climbed to his feet and crossed the Parlour to her. As soon as her hand was within arm's reach, he slipped her hand into his. "We'll work this out," he reassured her weakly. "Pat Doyle's a stubborn old bastard and Ringo isn't necessarily the most talkative bloke in the world, but we'll work it out. We'll fix this."

Uncertain of what to say, Amy simply tightened her grip on PJ's hand. She quickly lowered her eyes, not brave enough to let them meet PJ's lest he see what she was really thinking. As much as she cared about Pat and PJ's understandable obsession with the Doyles, it worried her because, deep down, she was worried that PJ might just be swallowed whole by it all.

* * *

It was almost an hour before Chris decided she was brave enough to head upstairs to Ringo's pub room. The party spirit had died after Pat's arrival, so much so that the cake cutting had been a very sombre affair, rather than the celebration it should have been. They'd all finally headed home, with Pat deciding he'd rather camp out in his caravan again rather than face the young Probationary Constable at the pub.

Reaching Ringo's door, Chris paused, her hand hovering over the door knob. She had no doubt that Ringo hadn't bothered locking the door. He never did – he trusted her too much to consider locking her out an option. But she felt rude for even considering the possibility of barging in on him, so knocked instead. "Ringo?"

Ringo's reply was almost instantaneous. "Please go away," he groaned, his voice muffled by what Chris could only assume was his pillow.

Chris shook her head, leaning against the door as her voice became pleading. "Can I please come in?" she asked. Almost as an afterthought, she remembered the bag of chips under her arm. "I've got a packet of salt and vinegar chips we can share…"

For almost a minute, Ringo remained silent, before he eventually spoke again. "Come in. The door's not locked."

Chris invited herself inside, closing the door silently behind her. She moved hesitantly towards Ringo's bed, where he was lying on his stomach with his face buried in his navy pillow slip. He didn't look up as she perched herself on the edge of his bed and opened the chip packet. Without a word to Ringo, she began to eat.

"I must admit, I can't really understand what you see in salt and vinegar chips," she told him, finally breaking the silence several seconds later. Her mouth was still full as she spoke. "It's a bit too strong for my tastes." Ringo still didn't reply, so Chris finally sat the chips next to his pillow and let a frustrated sigh escape her lips. "Even that cousin of yours wasn't this cryptic."

Ringo sat bolt upright, the speed of his motion knocking the open packet of chips to the floor next to his bed. He stared at Chris in alarm, his breathing suddenly very fast. "How did you…" he began, his voice gasping and high-pitched. "Did…did PJ…"

She shook her head. "Nah," she replied with a soothing smile, hoping the gesture would help ease Ringo's nerves. It helped a little. "PJ didn't need to tell me anything. I've been working it out ever since I first met you. I knew I knew that face of yours from somewhere…it just took a little while for it to click. I took an educated guess as to how you were related to Maggie. Pat is your mother's brother, right?"

An uneasy, yet amazed, smile crossed Ringo's lips. "You're amazing, you know that," he told her. "You ought to be a detective. You'd give Amy and PJ a run for their money."

Chris chuckled. "Yeah," she laughed. "Maggie used to tell me that, too." She paused, realising how uneasy the reference to his cousin was. "I gather that you and Pat aren't on good terms."

He stared at her pointedly. "It's not just that," he told her with tears brimming at he corners of his eyes. "I don't even know him. Tonight was the first time I've ever laid eyes upon him. All I know of him is what PJ and my father have told me and…and it's all pretty conflicting stuff."

"Conflicting?" Chris frowned in confusion.

Ringo sighed thoughtfully. "PJ worked out who I was on my first day. He told me a little about Pat. He…he told me about how good he was to his kids and…and how good a father-in-law he would have made. But, my dad…he's told me all this completely different stuff about how much of a low-life he is and…and how he wrecked his kids."

Chris' eyes widened in horror as tears began to slide silently down her cheeks. She found herself being taken back in time to when Maggie was alive, remembering all the times she'd spent with her old friend. "Wrecked his kids?" she repeated slowly, all the while not entirely sure she wanted to hear what Louis Barnett had said about Maggie and her brothers.

Ringo nodded, the hesitance in his face reflecting his realisation of how much this topic was hurting Chris. "He…ah…he used to tell me about how Pat had let one of his sons get onto heroin and…and how he'd let the other one get so involved in corruption that he killed his sister." Ringo was barely able to choke the last word out. He'd never met Maggie Doyle before in his life, but the way Chris pressed her hand to her mouth in a desperate attempt to stop sobs tore at his heart. "Dad…Dad said that the only half-decent Doyle was Maggie and…and that…that Pat killed her just as surely as if he'd shot her himself."

Chris couldn't hear anymore. She began shaking her head determinedly. "No," she mumbled, lowering her hand. She fixed Ringo with a firm stare. "Your Dad doesn't know. He doesn't bloody know anything. He never knew Maggie. He can't have even known Pat very well if that's how lowly he thinks of him." A quiet sob escaped her lips as she desperately tried to comb her curls back from her cheeks. "I saw the whole Doyle saga play out in this town, Ringo. Your Dad's got it all wrong."

Ringo stared at her, silently begging her to continue. When she didn't, he spoke quietly to urge her on. "What was it like, then?" he asked. "What did happen?"

She looked to him, her firm stare slowly fading to something softer and closer to the Chris that he knew well. "It's a long story, Ringo," she explained, reaching out to comb back strands of his short brown hair from his eyes. "I can't try to tell you everything. It's simply too involved. But…but Pat…he loved his kids. He loved them so much. Yes, he made some mistakes. All parents make mistakes, but…he loved them, Maggie especially. And he loved Maggie so much. It was hard not to love Maggie. She was my best friend for six years. She used to live here, at the pub. In this room, if memory serves me right."

A strange look passed across Ringo's face and he looked down to the bed beneath them as his cheeks paled. "This was Maggie's bed?" he asked quietly.

Chris nodded. "Yeah," she replied softly. "Not for years, though. She moved out after a few months, but…she was simply beautiful. And not just on the outside. She was so kind and loving and friendly." Pausing, her smile became distant and thoughtful. "You remind me of her. I mean, other than you being male and not having blonde hair. She would have liked you."

Ringo's lips twisted into a strange kind of smile. "You think so?"

"Yeah," she told him with a smile. "I do." She paused, before finally chuckling as the split packet of salt and vinegar chips caught her eye. "I'm going to have to clean that up now," she told him with a laugh that somehow smoothly closed the last conversation.

His eyes darted to the chips, before quickly becoming apologetic. "I'm really sorry," he offered, "I…I can clean that up, if you want…"

"Don't be silly," Chris replied with a laugh as she climbed to her feet. "I can clean up a packet of chips on my own. I'm not entirely useless."

Smiling, Ringo sat back into his pillows, watching as Chris quickly tidied up the chips back into the packet and sat it on his bedside table. Sitting back down on the bed, she looked to him pointedly. He stared at her in bewilderment. "Well?" Chris told him, nodding towards the chips. "Are you going to get a new packet or what? I cleaned up the first, you can go get the second."

Ringo laughed for a moment, before finally nodding and heading towards the door. Half-way there, he stopped and turned back towards her. "Ah, Chris?" he began. She looked up at the sound of her name, her eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Ringo's smile broadened as he spoke again before leaving. "Thank you."

* * *

It was barely light out when PJ slipped inside the pub, his black leather jacket pulled tightly around his torso and a matching warm woollen scarf wrapped around his neck. He looked around the public bar hesitantly, his tired face only forming a smile when he caught sight of Chris warming her hands on a steaming cup of coffee. She looked up at his entrance, offering him a smile. "Morning, Peej."

"Morning, Chrissie," he replied, his shivering subsiding slightly as he joined Chris at the nearby table. "It's like a bloody freezer out there," he told her with a laugh.

Chris returned the favour as she took a sip of her coffee. "Well, it is Victoria, PJ," she reminded him. "And it's nearly winter. Sometimes you've got to wonder about this country. It's either boiling hot or freezing cold. Never anything in between."

PJ grinned before looking away, leaning back in his chair as his mind began drifting back to the previous night. "Did Pat end up staying here last night?" he asked, his voice carrying the slightest hint of hope.

Chris studied PJ for a moment, before shaking her head. "Unfortunately, no," she replied with a sigh. "He probably spent the night in that caravan of his."

Sighing dejectedly, PJ sank forward so his chin was resting in the palm of his hand. "I was hoping he'd stayed here," he told her dismally. "The way he was last night…well, let's just say that I wouldn't have been surprised what he might have done."

"He wasn't the only one either," Chris added, taking another sip of her coffee. At the worried look on PJ's face, she continued. "Ringo was distraught. I barely managed to get him to calm down. The poor guy's so confused…he's been fed all these conflicting stories about the Doyles. There's this whole part of his heritage that he can't come to terms with."

PJ nodded thoughtfully, burying his face in his hands momentarily. It was several seconds before he could face Chris again. "How did you get him to calm down?"

Chris smiled, her eyes attaining a misty quality as she spoke. "I told him about Maggie," she replied with a shrug. "He seemed very receptive. Whatever that father of his has told him, I think Ringo really wants to know the truth about his mother's family."

By the time Chris was finished, PJ's face was back in his hands. His voice was little more than a mumble as he spoke. "Louis Barnett has a lot to answer for," he grumbled. "Feeding his kids lies, plus whatever Pat was going on about last night."

"What?" Chris' eyes lit up as she let her mind consider PJ's words. "What did Pat say last night?"

PJ's head snapped up as he suddenly realised what he'd said. Leaping to his feet, he tidied his jacket and scarf. "Look," he told her as he hurried towards the door back out into the car park, "it doesn't matter. I've got to run. Amy's already at the station and there's still a million and one wedding things to organise…" He paused in the doorway, turning back to see that Chris had followed him and was staring up at him in disbelief. "See you later, Chrissie," he told her in farewell, disappearing outside before Chris could coordinate herself to stop him.

* * *

As PJ returned to the CI office, he found Amy sitting at her desk, letting the curling steam from her coffee waft up over her face. A smile spread slowly across his face as he planted a tender kiss upon her cheek. Smiling weakly, Amy batted him away. "Come on, Peej," she told him with a half-laugh. "If I don't get this report done, then there will be no honeymoon."

Pulling away, PJ made a sound of disbelief before chuckling himself. "Oh, alright," he said as he flopped down in his office chair. "Just this once."

Amy let her smile broaden slightly before her gaze darted back down to her desk. Pushing the coffee aside carefully, she grabbed a folder from the corner of her desk and began going through its contents. Without looking up, she spoke again. "How was Ringo?"

PJ sat back in his chair with a sigh, intertwining his fingers behind his head. "Chris said he'd been pretty upset. Can't say I blame him. This is a horrible situation for anyone to be in." He frowned, his eyes narrowing in distraction. "I can't stop thinking about what Pat said…"

Amy's hand froze and she looked up, pushing strands of her fringe back from her eyes. "About Louis Barnett getting away with murder?" she asked. At PJ's silent nod of confirmation, she sat forward, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I already checked his record. There's no mention of anything like that at all. Officially, the worst thing he's ever done is accidentally dent a patrol car when he was a Probationary Constable."

PJ's frown deepened. "Unofficially…" he probed, watching as a half-smile crossed Amy's face.

She grabbed the closed laptop sitting on the corner of her desk and opened it. Within seconds, she had brought something up on the screen and was gesturing for PJ to come around to her side of the desks. Puzzled, he climbed to his feet and moved to stand behind Amy's shoulder.

On the screen was a newspaper article. It was old and yellowed with creases evident. Clearly, someone had scanned it in to send to Amy. PJ shook his head in bewilderment. "It's an old newspaper article," he told her, shrugging. "So?"

"So," Amy began, turning to face him. "In 1972, two officers were on duty. Louis Barnett…"

PJ had started scanning the article and had already found the other name. "And Patrick Doyle," he added, receiving a nod from Amy in confirmation. Continuing to read the article, PJ continued. "Another officer was shot…" Suddenly, horror passed through PJ's face. "Oh God…"

Amy nodded. "Louis Barnett shot another police officer, but claimed he thought it was a murderer that the plainclothes were after," she explained. "So…"

PJ paled instantly. "So either Louis Barnett made an honest mistake…" he mused, burying his face in his hands. "Or Pat's right and he got away with murder."

* * *

Morning had well and truly dawned over Mt. Thomas by the time Dash walked into the police station, desperately trying to stuff the last of her muesli bar into her mouth. Nick was already sitting at his desk, reading what appeared to be an Agatha Christie novel under the guise of reading a report. She sniggered as she headed over to her desk.

Nick looked up, hurriedly slamming the report – and hidden novel – closed. "You're late," he grumbled, annoyed more at being caught out than at Dash's tardiness.

"Sorry," Dash replied, chuckling at the expression on her Sergeant's face. "Phoebe's got a bit of a cold and didn't want to get out of bed this morning. It took Adam and I nearly an hour to get her ready to go to Charlie's…"

Nick let the tiniest of grins spread across his face. He knew precisely what kids could be like when they were sick. The twins were torture when they had a paper cut, let alone a cold. But as Dash looked up, he let the smile fade quickly. He wasn't about to let Deidre know that he wasn't as much of a bully as he made himself out to be. "We're one member down this morning," he explained as he shuffled the papers on his desk, still trying to hide his novel. "Chris rang. Ringo's not feeling well."

Dash frowned, staring at Nick in confusion. "He seemed alright last night," she pointed out. "Well, until Pat Doyle showed up, then he just disappeared…"

Nick made a sound of agreement as he stopped shuffling the papers momentarily. He met Dash's eyes hesitantly. "I get the feeling that Pat and Ringo know each other," he told her quietly. "And I know for a fact that PJ and Amy, if not Chris as well, know exactly what's going on." Dash opened her mouth to reply, but stopped when the phone on Nick's desk started ringing. He groaned loudly, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the receiver. "That'd be just our bloody luck," he mumbled, "Foxtrot and Patrick are too busy trying to plan the wedding of the century, Starry's having a mental health day and we're going to have a crime wave."

Almost instantly, the joking expression disappeared from Nick's face and was replaced instead by one of bewilderment. "Ah, yes…yes, I can get her for you. I believe Deidre's sitting right in front of me…"

At the sound of her name, Dash sat up a little straighter. Her mind started whirring at top speed, trying to work out who would be calling her at work. She only had two possibilities – Adam and Charlie – and she got the feeling that either would be bad news. She was only drawn away from her thoughts when Nick offered the phone to her.

"I have a Detective Sergeant Callum Hartley from Shepparton CID wanting to speak to a Senior Constable Deidre McKinley," he told her with a smile. "You haven't been off getting yourself into trouble, have you?"

Dash blinked in surprise before taking the phone, raising it to her ear as Nick picked up a rather thick folder and headed off to the mess room, no doubt to continue reading the Agatha Christie novel concealed within.

* * *

It was nearly lunchtime before Chris saw Pat again. She'd just finished shooing Compo Hayes out of the public bar when Pat walked in, the large bags under his eyes betraying the fact that he hadn't slept properly. As he realised that Chris had seen him, he offered her a weak smile. "Hello, Chrissie."

Chris eyed him for a long moment, not sure whether to welcome him warmly or have a go at him for last night. In the end, she chose neither. "Come through to the Parlour," she told him, nodding towards it. "Ringo might thank me for keeping it private."

Pat nodded and followed Chris into the Parlour. He closed the doors behind him before speaking. "I never thought Vicky would seriously go through with it…"

Confusion spread through Chris' face. "Go through with what?"

"Naming her kids after the Beatles," Pat replied. "I mean, if that kid was Ringo, then I'm assuming that there's a John, a Paul and a George to go with him."

Chris offered Pat a hesitant smile. She opened her mouth to speak, but changed her mind. Ringo had told her about his siblings, but she wasn't about to break her promise to him. "I should let Ringo tell you that," she pointed out. She paused, before realisation spread across her face. "You are going to speak to him at some stage, aren't you?"

Pat stared at Chris for a long moment, before finally shrugging and flopping down in one of the chairs. "I don't know," he confessed quietly. "Part of me wonders if I should just get back in that caravan and get as far away from this town as possible. It hasn't exactly been a lucky charm for us Doyles."

"What about the wedding?" Chris demanded, her voice growing surprisingly soft. "PJ and Amy really want you there. And there is no way in hell that I'm letting you walk out of this town while Ringo is more confused than ever."

"Last night was the first time I've ever laid eyes upon that kid," Pat confided, shaking his head in despair. "But I recognised him instantly. He…he looks too much like his mother to be anyone else's son. If I didn't know Louis Barnett was his father, I would never have picked the connection."

Chris slipped across the Parlour to Pat, crouching down before him so that their eyes were level. "You have to talk to him, Pat," she pleaded gently. "He's the only family you've got left."

Pat shook his head as he tried to climb to his feet and push past Chris. "It doesn't matter…"

"Yes, it does!" Chris replied, pushing Pat back down into his chair with surprising ease. "Family does matter, you know it does. All Ringo wants is to understand, to come to terms with his heritage. You can call it destiny, or you can call it coincidence, but he's somehow ended up in the one town where he can get that understanding. You are going to give it to him, if not for his sake, then for your own." Rising to her feet, Chris offered him a determined smile. "Now I am going to talk Ringo into having dinner with you tonight and you are going to clear the air. Is that understood?"

Pat nodded slowly, a bit surprised by the protective tone in Chris' voice. He didn't dare argue with the fiery redhead when she was using that voice.

* * *

Darkness had fallen over Mt. Thomas before Ringo had managed to get up the courage to go downstairs. The usual night crowd had started to arrive at the pub, clustering around their usual tables. Only a few people were sitting alone, including the one man Chris had convinced him to meet. Pat Doyle was sitting in a secluded corner, staring out the window and following the lights of the traffic with his gaze as he tapped the sides of his beer glass with his fingertips.

Ringo moved reluctantly to join him, only to be stopped by Chris' warm fingers wrapping around his wrist. He turned back to face her as she spoke. "Give him a chance," she told him in a soft and reassuring whisper. "He's made mistakes, but he's not a bad person. Don't judge him until you've gotten his side of the story."

He nodded slowly in response to Chris' advice and carefully pulled his wrist free. Cautiously, he approached Pat. The older man didn't even realise he was there until he spoke. "Ah…hello," he said in greeting, forcing an uneasy smile onto his face. He didn't really know what to say. He didn't even know what to call the man sitting before him. Pat was his uncle, but Uncle Pat didn't sound right. Not for someone he'd never met before.

Pat looked up, as if startled from a daydream. He smiled weakly at Ringo before chuckling nervously. "Ah, sit down, sit down," he told him, gesturing to the chair opposite. Tentatively, Ringo eased himself into the chair. Pat looked down to his beer, frowning at it distractedly. Finally, he found himself speaking without even thinking. "A lot of shrinks would try to kill me for drinking at all," he mumbled. He looked up, almost smiling at the look of bewilderment on Ringo's face. He felt compelled to continue. "I used to be an alcoholic. I didn't really stop until Mags was killed."

Ringo sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Why do you drink now, then?" he asked, frowning a little as he spoke. He didn't really know why he was asking the question.

Pat shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted thoughtfully. "I guess I…I only drink when I'm in Mt. Thomas. And I limit myself. I don't have that desire to drink myself stupid anymore. I guess…I guess Maggie's murder was a wake-up call." Little tears sprung up in his eyes as he suddenly buried his face in his hands. "She said that the drink would kill me, then it would have destroyed her. I can't find much solace in something that Maggie hated me doing."

Ringo nodded slowly, shuffling his weight awkwardly. He didn't really know what to say or do and was only saved by Chris' timely intervention. She had left the bar and approached the table, a small notepad in hand. "So," she began, offering them a kind and surprisingly relaxing smile. "You guys want something to eat."

Chuckling nervously to hide his emotions, Pat raised his head from his hands. "Ah…I guess a steak will do my fine, Chrissie," he told her. "In all the places I've seen so far, I have yet to find a place that makes steaks anywhere near as nice as yours."

Chris laughed as she scribbled Pat's order down. "Flattery won't get rid of the bill, Pat," she replied, before turning to Ringo. "What about you?"

"Ah…same here, thank you Chris," he told her, offering her a weak smile. She returned his efforts in a sign of reassurance.

Chris nodded as she turned back to the bar. "I'll bring them over when they're ready," she explained. "You want a beer, Ringo?"

Ringo nodded to Chris before turning back to Pat, quite unable to meet his uncle's gaze. An uneasy silence hovered between them for several minutes, until Pat finally spoke again. "So you're a copper…" he began, shaking his head in disbelief. "How long?"

"I…I graduated from the Academy at the beginning of this year," he explained with a smile to Chris as she brought his beer over. The glass remained untouched as he continued to speak quietly and in a voice riddled with insecurity. "Mt. Thomas is my first posting."

Pat nodded as he downed a mouthful of his beer. "The others treating you alright?" he asked.

Ringo nodded quickly in reply. "They've all been great," he explained. "The Boss is a nice guy. He looks out for his team and is really friendly. The Sarge is a bit strange, he acts like a bully sometimes, but he's a bit of a softly. And Dash…she's probably my best friend."

"Dash McKinley," Pat mused, his smile broadening. "Maggie always knew she'd come back eventually." At this comment, Ringo stared at Pat in puzzlement. Pat chuckled and continued. "She and Maggie were best friends. They lived together at one stage. She used to talk about Dash a lot." Pat sighed. "I suppose she's all grown up now."

"Yeah," Ringo replied thoughtfully. "She is. She's got a three year old daughter, Phoebe." He paused, knowing full well what was going on. He and Pat were dancing around the real issues, hoping to keep this somewhat pleasant atmosphere going rather than tackle what really needed to be said. Finally, he braved himself to meet Pat Doyle's eyes. "Dad used to talk about you."

Pat looked away, massaging his temples in frustration. "It wasn't good stuff, I'm assuming."

Ringo shook his head slowly. "No," he admitted reluctantly. "He…he doesn't seem to like you at all."

Sighing, Pat finally looked up to Ringo, a little surprised at how comfortable he felt with his nephew. There was a quality to Ringo that made him feel as though he could tell him the truth. "Your father did something once that I couldn't forgive," he finally explained. "I could never forgive it. We had a falling out."

"Is that why you didn't speak to Mum again after she married him?" Ringo was surprised at himself as the question slipped out, so naturally that he didn't realise he was asking it until it was far too late. He went to apologise, but Pat was already answering it before he got the chance.

"To cut a long story short, yes," he replied, shaking his head at the memory. "In hindsight, I made a very big mistake that day. The day she told me she'd accepted your father's proposal, I…I saw red. I made her choose between me and him. I just assumed she'd pick me. We'd always been very close and I couldn't see why she'd turn her back on me, but she did. I gave her the ultimatum and she chose him."

Ringo paused, his expression thoughtful. "What did Dad do?" he asked, leaning across the table slightly. He was a little astonished at how easy being with Pat felt, now that they had started clearing the air.

Pat frowned, opening and closing his mouth several times before shaking his head. "There's no point in dragging it up now," he explained. "It's well and truly closed. That dog's been sleeping for a very long time. There's no point in waking it up now." Pat could see the disappointment in Ringo's eyes, but decided not to address it. Instead, he aimed for a different topic. "I still can't believe your mother named you after the Beatles."

Ringo looked up, confusion crossing his face at this new discussion. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother was a very big fan of the Beatles. Loved them," Pat explained with a laugh. "She owned every album they ever released. She practically worshipped them. I didn't understand why. The Beatles weren't really my cup of tea." His smile grew nostalgic as he spoke and Ringo could tell that he was in another place and time. "I was teasing her about it once, I ended up daring her to have four kids and name them all after the Beatles. I was surprised how seriously she took it. She even had female counterparts planned out, just in case she didn't have four boys. The only name she couldn't find a female version of was Ringo. She said that she'd just have to make sure that one of them was a boy."

Ringo nodded, thinking through Pat's story. "She took it that seriously?"

Pat nodded. "I always thought she'd go back on it," he pointed out. "But after I lost contact with her…I just assumed she would have forgotten all about that dare. But she didn't. Somehow, I can't see your father being too happy with that arrangement." At Ringo's shrug, Pat sighed thoughtfully and reached over to squeeze his nephew's hand kindly. "I wish I'd been the bigger person that day," he confessed. "If I had have been, you could have gotten a chance to know your cousins. I wrecked all of that."

Ringo opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when Chris appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, two plates balanced on her arms. "Here's your dinners," she told them cheerfully as she sat the plates on the table.

As the pair began to eat, Ringo felt a comfortable smile spread across his face. He got the feeling that he and Pat were going to get along fine.

* * *

Both Mark and Nick had already left when Dash finally switched off her overhead lamp, having finally given up on getting that traffic report finished. She'd been distracted ever since Nick had handed her the phone that morning and she knew that she would have been a disaster if a new case had come in. She couldn't keep her mind on anything for longer than a few seconds. Even Adam's phone call during his lunch break didn't do anything to perk her up.

She paused on her way to the mess room, noticing that Amy was sitting alone in the CI office, having what appeared to be a very heated phone conversation. As she walked towards the office door, she caught bits and pieces of Amy's rants and quickly realised that it was wedding related.

Amy's expression grew even more frustrated as she noticed Dash inviting herself into the office. She waved at Dash to remain silent as she gripped the phone's receiver tighter in anger. "Look," she snapped. "I have to go. I want this fixed, got it…I don't know how, I don't care how! Yes…goodbye." Dash tried to restrain laughter as Amy slammed the receiver back into place. At this, Amy shot her a cold death stare, only for it to relax seconds later. It was replaced by a look that was remarkably apologetic. "Sorry," she explained with a tired laugh. "That was the florist. Turns out that some idiot's ordered the wrong flowers. PJ and I asked for roses, and someone's managed to order in daffodils."

Dash offered Amy a grin, before her expression became one of realisation. "Oh, don't tell me you guys decided to go to Walter Cartwright's place!"

"Yeah…" Amy mumbled, staring at Dash blankly in reply. "We did. Why?"

The laugh that escaped Dash's lips was unmistakable. She shook her head in disbelief. "I went to school with that guy," she explained. "His father was in the flower business too. Walty's never been able to identify flowers properly. God only knows why his father left him the business. He's completely incompetent."

Amy's face contorted into an exasperated grin as she let her head sink forward. "Wish you'd told us that before," she mumbled as she sat back, combing strands of hair back behind her ear. Silence hovered between them for a few seconds, before Amy gestured vaguely in the direction of the mess room. "If you're looking for PJ, he's getting himself a sandwich…"

Dash's face became uneasy as she suddenly remembered why she had come to the CI office in the first place. "No," she replied, laughing to cover her nervousness. "No, you'll be just as good…"

"What?" Confusion spread across Amy's face as she sat forward.

Dash hurried around to PJ's chair and dragged it over so it was next to Amy's. She flopped down in it as she spoke. "How did you get into CI?" she asked, spinning the chair slightly with her foot.

Amy frowned, a little taken aback by the question. "Well," she began with a shrug. "I'd been promoted to Senior Constable a few weeks before when we had a major homicide case. My, ah…" She paused for a moment, not quite sure how to describe Lisa Craig to Dash. For some reason, describing her as what she really was, her foster mother, didn't seem quite right. "…my, ah, mentor was one of the detectives working on the case. They were run off their feet, so she recommended me. I guess plainclothes just agreed with me. I went to Detective Training School and…well, I guess the rest is history." As she watched Dash absorb her story, she narrowed her eyes in curiosity. "Why do you ask?"

Dash looked away, for a long moment unable to meet Amy's gaze. She finally looked up, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. "I got a call from Detective Sergeant Callum Hartley. Apparently he's the head of Shepparton CID."

"Yeah," Amy replied with a slow nod. "I think I've heard the name before. He's not a bad bloke. Why did he want to speak to you?" Almost as soon as the question left her lips, Amy realised the answer. "He offered you a job, didn't he?"

Dash nodded. "Yeah," she admitted. "He…he did."

Astonishment went through Amy's features. "He offered you a position in CI?" she asked, her voice rising in volume through her shock. "Have you been to Detective Training School?"

Again, Dash nodded. "In 1999, Monica Draper recommended me for a course."

"And you passed?"

"Yeah…by some miracle," Dash added with a half-smile. "People didn't seem to think I was ready. PJ and Tom certainly didn't, anyway." She sighed wistfully. "I left the force after my Mum was killed. I went travelling instead."

Amy offered Dash a reassuring smile. "They must think you're good," she pointed out. "They're willing to take you on ten years after you did the course and with no history in CI. Most people wouldn't get that sort of offer."

Dash remained silent for a long moment, before folding her arms on Amy's desk and slumping forward to let her chin rest on her forearms. "It's not the first time I've been made this sort of offer, either," she added.

Amy's eyes widened. "It's not?"

"No," Dash replied with a shake of her head. "When I first graduated from Detective Training School, Drug Squad wanted to take me on."

Amy made a sound as though she had been winded. The disbelief at that kind of offer being made to anyone was just too great. Sure, she had been accepted into the Organised Crime Squad at a young age and only a few months after entering CI, but she'd never heard of someone going straight into the Drug Squad after passing the exams. "That's…that's amazing, Dash, that really is," she pointed out. "You've really impressed someone in a high place."

Dash turned a bright shade of red before continuing. "After I rejoined the force, I didn't expect to be made an offer like that. I expected to be forced back to Detective Training School. Phoebe was three months old when I got made another offer."

"Who with?" Amy asked.

"St. Kilda CI," Dash explained. "I didn't believe it when they made me the offer. But I couldn't accept it. I was playing single mum to a three month old baby who didn't sleep properly and had colic. I'd had to go back to work earlier than I'd wanted to. It was hard enough managing the uniform workload with Phoebe, let alone CI. Besides, St. Kilda was hardly the place I wanted my daughter growing up in."

Amy nodded knowingly. She knew St. Kilda's reputation. "I don't blame you," she sympathised. "But Shepparton's a very different place to St. Kilda. I went there on holidays sometimes when I was a kid. It's a nice place."

"I know," Dash moaned, momentarily burying her head in her hands before lowering them to comb her fringe out of her face. "I just…I just don't know what to do. Mt. Thomas has always been home. I was born in this town; I grew up in this town. What little is left of my family is here. But…"

Amy leaned forward, smiling at Dash pointedly. She knew what was coming. "But…" she probed.

Frustration crossed Dash's face as she looked to Amy with tiny tears in her eyes. "I want to be a detective. I've always wanted to be a detective. One of the best days of my life was when I passed Detective Training School." A single tear slipped down her cheek as Amy reached out to squeeze her hand kindly. "I can see why women say balancing a career and family is too hard," she whispered, her voice close to sobs as more tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm on the brink of getting to exactly where I've always wanted to be in my career and…and I'm not sure what to do. Adam's got a great job at the hospital and…and I don't know if I can uproot Phoebe again."

The tears began to stream down Dash's creeks in earnest as Amy reached across, almost instinctively, to pull Dash into a hug. The younger brunette sobbed heavily into Amy's shoulder, while the detective gently tried to soothe her. "It'll be okay," she reassured her. "You'll work it out. You're not on your own anymore; you'll make the right choice for your family." As Dash pulled away, Amy found herself adding, "And for yourself as well."

Dash nodded, not entirely sure she believed Amy's reassurances, but knowing that she needed to get home. "I'd better go," she told her with a weak laugh. "Adam and Phoebe will be waiting for me." Dash slipped out of the CI office silently, disappearing out through the back entrance.

PJ returned to the CI office at that moment, impossibly quickly for someone who wasn't listening in. His gaze immediately fell upon the door Dash had left through as he raised his eyebrows. "Shepparton want Dash on as a detective," he mused.

Amy stared at him with wide eyes. "You were eavesdropping," she mumbled, turning her gaze away. "You bastard." Despite the fact that Amy's words should have been an insult, PJ could tell from her tone of voice that it was anything but. Setting his sandwich on his desk, he sat down on the chair Dash had left at Amy's side and began to let his lips run down Amy's neck tenderly. Amy rolled her eyes, but her wide grin betrayed her true feelings. "Oh, come on," she told him, half-heartedly trying to swat him away. "I can see right through your shameless attempt to suck up to me for forgiveness."

PJ didn't say anything in reply. Instead, he reached up to cup Amy's cheek within the palm of his hand and turned her head towards him. Within seconds, their lips had met and they were kissing, passionately and hungrily drawing each other in.

It was several minutes before Amy broke away, laughing breathlessly at what had just happened. "Alright, alright," she told him, hitting him on the arm playfully. "You eat your sandwich, I'll pack up here and we can resume that kissing at home."

PJ grinned. "I think we've got ourselves a deal," he replied, kissing her softly on the cheek before moving back to his sandwich.

* * *

The next morning dawned pleasantly over Mt. Thomas as Nick sat at his desk, a well-loved copy of Agatha Christie's _A Murder is Announced_ in his hands. The rest of the officers hadn't shown up yet, but Nick was unconcerned. It was nothing unusual.

"Oh, Miss Marple!"

Nick swore loudly as Ringo's voice sounded from behind him. He slammed the novel shut quickly, stashing it in a drawer hurriedly. By the time he looked up, Ringo had already sat down at his desk and was stifling a chuckle. "Oh, very funny Starry," he grumbled. "You'll do that to a Sergeant with a heart condition one day and then you'll be sorry." Ringo's expression suddenly became very apologetic. As he opened his mouth to speak, Nick waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it," he pointed out. "Just don't tell the Boss that I'm reading on duty."

"No worries, Sarge," Ringo replied quickly. "I won't tell. Just as long as you promise to lend it to me when you're done. I love Agatha Christie; I haven't read that one though."

Nick nodded in agreement as he reopened the drawer and pulled out _A Murder is Announced_. For as long as Ringo was the only officer at the station, then he was going to keep reading.

Until the buzzer sounded.

Nick groaned loudly, slamming the book shut and throwing his arms up in despair. He let his head rest on his desk for a few seconds, until he heard the near inaudible curse leave Ringo's lips. The sound made his head shoot up so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash. He'd never heard Ringo swear before and the sound surprised him.

Ringo was staring up at the monitor that showed the reception area. Standing at the front desk, drumming his fingers impatiently, was a man Nick vaguely recognised. He was wearing a formal police uniform and was almost completely bald, save for a thin ring of dark hair running around his head. Looking increasingly disgruntled, the man buzzed again.

Nick climbed to his feet, stopping at Ringo's desk on his way to the front desk. "Who's he?" he asked quietly.

Ringo gulped as he lowered his head and busied himself with what little paperwork he hadn't kept up to date. "My father," he mumbled.

Nick raised an eyebrow at Ringo's reaction to the appearance of his father, but tried not to think anything of it. Instead, he simply opened the door out to the reception area and met the man at the desk. "Can I help you?" he asked, bracing himself on the desk casually. Now that he was closer, Nick could see the badge that Ringo's father wore with pride on his chest. Louis Barnett, Superintendent.

"Sharpen up, Schultz," Louis barked, looking Nick up and down disapprovingly. "This is a police station, not your lounge room."

Nick let his gaze drift down and immediately started cursing himself. His shirt was untucked, his hair was as unruly as ever and his jacket hung messily over his torso. Clearing his throat to try to hide his embarrassment, he fixed the shirt and jacket and tried to smooth his hair as best he could.

Louis nodded once Nick had done. "Better, Sergeant," he told him. As an uneasy silence fell, Louis rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Well?" he demanded. "Are you going to let me in or not?"

"Ah, yes, come through Superintendent…" Nick mumbled, lifting the swing-top counter to let Louis through. As he approached the door, he remembered Ringo's reaction to his father. He just hoped that by letting Louis into the muster room he wasn't about to start World War III.

Louis raised an eyebrow as he entered the muster room ahead of Nick and spun back to the much taller Sergeant. "This place is a pig sty, Sergeant."

Nick chuckled, hoping to diffuse the tension. "Don't be silly," he laughed. "We're nowhere near that organised." He chuckled again, hoping that it might just save his joke, but he knew that his humour had fallen very flat. And, looking around the muster room, he could sort of tell why Louis hadn't been overly impressed. Dash had a pile of paperwork that even he couldn't see over, his Agatha Christie novel was still sitting in pride of place on his desk and every flat surface in sight had been covered with various bits and pieces relating to PJ and Amy's wedding.

At least Ringo had disappeared.

"Where is everyone?" Louis asked, looking around him in confusion. He invited himself to sort through the various files on Nick's desk until he found a roster. Examining it, Louis' face contorted into a scowl. "According to this, Senior Constable McKinley should be in by now. Not to mention Probationary Constable Barnett and Senior Sergeant Jacobs. And the total absence of any members of CI is disturbingly sloppy…"

Nick drew in a deep breath as he tried to find some explanation. "Well, Probationary Constable Barnett is here," he pointed out. "I imagine he's just getting a caffeine fix." Much to Nick's surprise, the mention of his son did little to Louis' demeanour. Clearing his throat, Nick continued. "Senior Sergeant Jacobs' daughter is in town on holidays, he's probably just spending some time with her. Senior Constable McKinley is probably trying to get her young daughter off to her brother's and as for the detectives…"

Louis simply shook his head. "Stop it, Sergeant," he mumbled. "I don't need excuses." He sat the roster sheet back on Nick's desk and headed over to Mark's office. "I'm here to assess the running of the station, which at the moment seems remarkably poor. Don't you agree, Sergeant?"

Nick had only met this guy a few minutes ago, but he already didn't like him. The way he kept pulling rank disturbed him. He suddenly could see why Ringo wasn't too keen on him. But, recognising that he was probably going to get a lecture if he didn't agree, Nick simply nodded. "Yes, sir," he grumbled as Louis invited himself into Mark's office.

Frustrated, Nick headed over to his desk to tidy up. He got the horrible sinking feeling that this day was just going to go from bad to worse.

* * *

Dash sat back in the passenger seat as Adam drove, apparently a little frustrated at having to obey the speed limit. They were both running very late, partly because they'd both slept in and partly because Phoebe still had her cold. Getting ready that morning had turned into one disaster after another.

She stared out the window thoughtfully for several minutes, her forehead resting against the glass. It took all the courage she had to speak. "I got offered a job yesterday," she finally confessed.

Adam raised an eyebrow, for a moment not sure what to say. Finally, he shot her a smile before turning back to the road. "What kind of job?" he asked.

Dash didn't move her head from the window. She had put so much energy into trying to make a decision that she didn't have enough left to bother lifting her head. "Shepparton CID want me on as a Senior Detective," she explained. She regarded Adam out of the corner of her eye, only to be very surprised at the way his eyes widened.

"Detective?" he asked incredulously. "I didn't know you'd been to Detective Training School."

"I completed the course ten years ago," she told him, finally finding the energy to lift her head to look at him. His eyes were still wide and his expression appeared to be one of surprise.

"I don't remember that," he mumbled, shooting her a slightly perplexed stare.

Dash sighed thoughtfully. "You'd already left by then," she pointed out. "Monica Draper recommended me. I don't think Tom and PJ thought I was really ready for it. It certainly felt like they were only humouring me."

Adam frowned as he turned back to the road, turning a corner towards the police station. "You never mentioned that," he whispered.

She looked away, a guilty glint in her eyes. "I never thought it was important," she explained wistfully. "I never thought anyone would want me on as a Detective, not after I'd left the force for so long. Phoebe was three months old before I got another offer to join CI."

"Why didn't you accept it?" Adam asked as he pulled the car to a stop outside the Mt. Thomas police station. As she undid her seat belt, Dash looked to Adam bemusedly. Under her stare, he felt compelled to continue. "I mean, you would have made a good detective and I can tell from the way you're talking that you wanted to take the offer."

Dash nodded in agreement as little tears formed in her eyes. "I couldn't have managed CI and a baby, Adam," she confessed, mopping at her eyes hurriedly before she became the same teary mess she had been the night before. "Besides, it was in St. Kilda. There was no way I was bringing up Phoebe there."

Guilt spread through Adam's face as Dash's words hit home. She'd given up her dream of being a detective to bring up their child. She may have forgiven him for walking out, but it didn't change the fact that his actions had forced her to give up something she wanted. He finally looked up to her as he reached out to take her hand in his. "Shepparton's not a bad place," he pointed out with a shrug. "I mean…if Shepparton CID want to give you a job, then there's nothing stopping you from taking it."

"Don't be stupid, Adam," she replied, shaking her head slowly. "What about your job? What about Phoebe? Nursing Unit Manager is a dream job for you. What are the chances you'll find a similar position in Shepparton?"

Adam shrugged. "I'll go back to being a plain old nurse," he told her with a smile. "I became a nurse to help people; the added paperwork of being an NUM isn't something I care too much for, anyway."

Dash looked away briefly; a little infuriated by the way Adam was accepting this. She'd half wanted him to be disappointed, to not want to move. It would have made her choice a lot easier. "What about Phoebe then?" she demanded. "I mean, Charlie's our main babysitter. We're not going to have one in Shepparton."

"I'm sure there are plenty of good babysitters in Shepparton, Dash," he pointed out. "Besides…I could cut my hours down…"

She stared at him blankly. "What?"

Adam shuffled closer to her, clasping her hands close to his chest. "I can cut my hours down," he clarified. "I'll go back to being an ordinary nurse. It's basically all care and no mountains of paperwork – much more my cup of tea. That way I can spend more time at home with Phoebe."

Dash stared at him, her expression a mixture of doubt and amazement. "Why are you willing to do all this?" she asked him in confusion. "I mean…you're offering to throw away a promotion, cut back on work and move to a totally new town…I just don't get why."

"I thought it was obvious," Adam replied as he released his grip on one of Dash's hands and began to run his fingers through her fringe. "You've done so much to look after our girl and I'll never be able to forgive myself completely for running away. I got the chance to focus on my career, so now it's your turn. It's your turn to advance your career."

Dash felt her lips twist into a smile. "Thanks, Adam," she told him, kissing him on the lips tenderly. As she drew away, her smile faded a little. "I just…I just need some more time to think."

* * *

As Dash raced into the muster room, mumbling an apology as she passed Nick's desk, she failed to notice the man standing in the doorway to Mark's office. She didn't even realise he was there until he spoke. "Senior Constable McKinley, so nice of you to grace us with your presence at last."

She jumped, her heart racing as she spun to face the man. Reading his police badge, her eyes widened. It had to be Ringo's father. Behind him stood Mark, who was wearing his reading glasses and had an exasperated look on his face. Nick was sitting at his desk, clearing up the piles of paperwork, while Amy and PJ were, quite sensibly, hiding away in their office. Ringo was nowhere to be seen, but remembering what he had told her about his family, Dash could understand why. "Superintendent," she said, drawing herself up to her full height quickly.

"You were meant to be here several hours ago," Louis Barnett reminded her, crossing the muster room to her. "I suggest you invest in a watch. It's a nifty little invention that should help you get to work on time."

Dash fumed silently. If Nick or Mark had made that comment, she would have laughed and written it off as humour. But, coming from Louis, she felt offended. She opened her mouth to argue, but Mark's shaking head warned her off. Instead, she simply nodded. "Yes, sir," she mumbled as she sat down at her desk. As Louis returned to Mark's office, she pulled off her jacket angrily and slammed it down on her desk. She looked up to Nick and nodded towards Louis slightly. "What do you reckon I'd get for smacking him one?" she asked.

Nick grinned at Dash's comment as he offered her a wink. "A round of applause, I'd say," he replied and Dash smiled in response.

* * *

It was almost afternoon when Nick entered the CI office, knocking softly before inviting himself inside. Surprised to find Amy alone, he raised an eyebrow. "Where's Patrick?" he asked casually.

Amy looked up to the door leading out into the muster room in surprise, before shrugging in reply to Nick's question. "Out, I suppose," she answered. "From the way he was acting, it seemed like secret wedding business."

Nick's expression became one of understanding. A half smile crept across his face. "Secret from you or Superintendent Baldy in there?"

Laughing, Amy shook her head. "Superintendent Baldy?" she repeated in disbelief. "My, my, Schultz, you are losing your touch."

Nick nodded with false graveness, before motioning down to the laptop Amy was using. The screen was blank, but he could see that she had minimised something down on the taskbar. Judging by the title, it was wedding dress related. "So," he probed. "How's the wedding planning going?"

Amy groaned loudly as she looked up to Nick. "I can now see why they say 'til death do us part'," she pointed out. "You wouldn't want to organise more than one of these in a lifetime." Suddenly remembering that Zoe wasn't Nick's first wife, her expression became apologetic. "No offence."

Shrugging, Nick pulled PJ's chair over to Amy and sat down. "None taken," he reassured her. Nodding towards the laptop, he continued. "Still no luck in the wedding dress department?"

"Who would have thought picking a white dress would be so bloody hard?" Amy demanded by way of reply. She returned to the laptop briefly, bringing the Internet Explorer window back up on screen. It was a site for brides-to-be, with a multitude of dresses on show. Just form the few he could see, Nick could see why Amy didn't relish in her task of picking one. "I mean, it's easy enough for the bloke. You just have to find a half-decent suit and be done with it. Yet, somehow I've got to find a dress that looks good on me and goes with the bridesmaids' dresses…Speaking of which, I still have no idea what they're going to be wearing…"

Nick frowned. "So you don't have dresses for Chris, Zoe or Dash yet?" he asked. He tried to force as much sympathy into his tones as possible, hoping that it would soothe Amy's nerves a little. He knew most girls had their weddings planned down to the last detail by the time they were eight, but he got the feeling that Amy had never given her wedding a second thought until PJ popped the question.

Amy looked to him pointedly. "You want to know how hard it is to find a day that all four of us are available?" she lamented. "I mean, between the station, the hospital and the pub, there's barely a free day. Then there's the trouble of finding a colour and style that goes with two brunettes and a redhead…"

Nick raised his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright," he laughed. "I get it, I get it. It's harder for the woman when organising the wedding." He paused, watching as Amy relaxed slightly. "What else is there to do?"

Sitting back in her chair, Amy began to count off on her fingers. "Well, apart from the dresses," she explained, "there are the flowers, which we thought were done until last night when we found out that the incompetent moron of a florist…" Realising that she was babbling, she drew in a deep breath and continued. "There's the catering, which Chris has kindly offered to take care of, thank God. We still don't have a venue, we've only decided on one song for the reception, I haven't even started writing my vows yet…" Amy buried her head in her hands as a sound of frustration left her lips. "It's a bloody disaster, Nick."

"How about the guests?" Nick asked as he leant across her desk. "Or is that still a mystery?"

A tiny smile crossed her lips as she nodded. "That's about the only thing that is sorted," she replied. Again, she began counting off on her fingers. "Tess and Jonesy are coming down from Melbourne, Ben rang a couple of days ago to confirm that he's coming, Pat's already here…but Kelly and Joss are too busy in Italy to make it, Brendan's working and can't get over from Perth…" She laughed dimly. "So many people can't make it. We're getting Ringo to videotape it for us, but…"

Nick nodded sadly. "It's not quite the same when they can't be there with you," he agreed. At Amy's curious stare, he continued. "Zoe and I had to organise our wedding pretty quickly. She had to get to Melbourne for work, I had to start at Footscray…it was a rush job."

"Do you regret that?" Amy asked, staring at Nick probingly.

He shook his head as a distant smile crossed his lips. "Not at all," he told her firmly. "The most important thing is that you get to marry the person you love. As long as I got to marry Zoe, I would have done it in the registry office if I had to."

Amy nodded, a smile gracing her face. "That's true," she admitted with a nod. "I just don't know how we're going to get it together in time. The rate we're going, we won't be getting married til after Christmas."

Nick laughed as he reached across to squeeze Amy's shoulder encouragingly. "Oh, it'll be right," he reassured her with a grin. "If anyone can pull it together, it's you."

She blushed and chuckled as she turned back to the laptop. "Thanks, Nick," she told him. Her expression became one of annoyance again as she focused on the photographs onscreen. "Back to the dresses, I suppose."

Nick nodded, only to become distracted when he heard the buzzer sound from the reception area. He rolled his eyes as he looked to the screen. Immediately, he raised his eyebrows and looked back to Amy. "Pat Doyle's here."

Amy nodded as she looked up casually. It took a few seconds for her to realise just what this meant. Pat Doyle was in the police station, separated from Louis Barnett by a single wall. She leapt up to her feet, alarm spreading like wildfire across her face. "I'm going to go speak to him," she told him breathlessly. "Just, whatever you do, don't let Superintendent Barnett see him."

As Amy dashed past him to the muster room, Nick stared after her in confusion. "Why?"

"Just don't."

* * *

Amy slipped into the reception area, not opening the door any further than absolutely necessary. Pat's cheerful expression immediately became one of concern as Amy realised just how bad she looked. The copper left in him realised that something was wrong long before she could coordinate herself to force a smile.

"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning across the counter.

She shook her head furiously. "Nothing's wrong," she lied, knowing full well that she wasn't convincing him at all. "It's fine. Just…wedding stuff, that's all."

Pat frowned, certain that there was something Amy wasn't telling him.

* * *

As Nick passed the monitors in the muster room, he reached up easily to switch off the one showing the events in the reception area. He wasn't sure why Amy was so determined to keep Pat Doyle and Louis Barnett separate, but he could tell that this was no time to argue with her. Unfortunately, he wasn't aware that Louis was standing in Mark's office, watching him through the window.

Stepping out into the muster room, Louis' voice made Nick physically jump. "What do you think you are doing, Sergeant?"

Nick spun to face Louis, suddenly finding himself a little flustered. He didn't have an excuse, or at least not a good one. He drew himself up to his full height, as he watched Mark emerge from his office, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Ah…what do you mean, Superinten…"

"You know full well what I mean," Louis pointed out, crossing the gap in several strides as he waved an arm towards the blackened monitor. "You just switched that monitor off!"

"I was, ah…" Nick began, drawing in a deep breath. "Ah…the camera's…malfunctioning. I figured I may as well switch the monitor off rather than waste power…"

Rolling his eyes, Louis reached up to switch the monitor back on. "I'm sure you're well aware that it is protocol that the monitor is left on at all…" He suddenly trailed off as the monitor came to life, showing the two in the reception area. Amy was attempting to shoo Pat away, but Pat was showing his staying power. Louis' face turned red as, without another word, he stormed into the reception area. Confused and feeling surprisingly panicky, Nick and Mark followed him.

Louis burst into the reception area, his entrance instantly catching Amy and Pat's attention. Amy's expression became pained as she swore under her breath, while Pat's face paled before turning a shade of red to rival Louis'.

"You've got a hide, showing up at a police station," Louis grumbled as Nick and Mark appeared in the doorway.

Pat stepped towards Louis, leaning across the counter as anger boiled away in his face. "I'm visiting a friend," he pointed out. "I'm on parole. There's nothing stopping me from visiting a mate."

Louis scoffed at this. "Mate," he said as he looked to Amy, who was massaging her temples in the corner. "That'd be you and your fiancé wouldn't it, Senior Detective Fox?" At Amy's meek nod of reply, Louis shot Pat a savage glare as he continued to direct his comments at Amy. "I'd be choosing your friends more wisely, if I were you. This is the kind of company that can end careers."

Pat nodded, chuckling sarcastically. "Because you're a better murderer for them to associate with, I'm sure."

Looking up hesitantly, Amy could see Nick and Mark sharing a puzzled frown. She suddenly felt very sorry for Ringo. All his family's dirty laundry was about to get aired in one of the worst ways possible.

"I am not a murderer!" Louis roared. In just seconds, he had lifted the swing top counter and was standing centimetres from Pat. His voice became scathing as he continued. "If you have even so much as introduced yourself to my son…"

"Son," Pat scoffed. "That's a laugh. You've treated that kid like crap. He's grown up feeling like no one cares. You haven't even given him – or any of them, for that matter – the chance to even meet any of Vicky's family."

"Why the bloody hell would I want to?!" Louis demanded, his voice becoming so loud that Amy, Nick and Mark winced at the volume. "You're disgusting, Doyle. You were a corrupt copper who wrecked your kids. How dare you criticise my parenting when one of your sons was a junkie and the other a drug dealer!"

Pat shook his head warningly, every ounce of his control evaporating. "Shut up."

Louis continued, unabated. "The sad thing is the only half-decent kid you did produce never had a chance. Not with you as a father. That girl was doomed. Why would I have given my kids the chance to get involved with that lot?"

Pat finally snapped. He lashed out at Louis, only for his punch to be blocked. Hoping that the situation was finally going to be under control, Amy stepped forward to guide Pat away, only to be surprised when Louis threw a punch of his own. It collided with Pat's cheek, causing him to stumble momentarily. Surprised at Louis' actions, Amy retreated back into the corner.

Pat was back on Louis in seconds. He grabbed the other man, trying to pull him into a headlock while Louis continued to try to land punches. It was a surreal sight for Amy, Nick and Mark, watching as two sixty-something men tried to beat each other to a pulp.

"Come on," Nick mumbled, shaking his head in confusion as he and Mark slipped through to the other side of the counter. "Do I have to separate you two like a couple of children?" But Pat and Louis continued on, apparently taking no notice of Nick's words.

All of a sudden, things became very confused. The three police officers tried to leap on the warring men at the same time, hoping to pull them apart. Instead, seconds later, Amy withdrew, a gasp of pain leaving her lips. The sound stopped the fight dead in its tracks as Nick hurried to her side, grasping her shoulders protectively as she reached up to her nose tentatively. It was bleeding profusely, causing a stream of bright crimson blood to run down her face.

Struggling to catch his breath, Louis glared at Pat harshly. "See?" he snapped breathlessly. "That bastard ought to be locked up."

* * *

Sitting at the table in the mess room, Amy dabbed at her bleeding nose with a tissue. The smell of the blood was making her feel nauseous and her whole face still seemed to sting with the pain of the hit. Her head was started to throb too, but she couldn't tell whether the punch, the sickening smell of blood or the stress was responsible for that. She lowered the tissue as Mark entered the mess room, speaking to Nick in a hushed whisper. She sat the bloodied tissue aside and grabbed a new one from the box as Mark and Nick sat down either side of her.

"How are you feeling?" Mark asked, looking her over worriedly. The concern in his eyes finally encouraged Amy to look herself over. She looked worse than she'd thought. Some of the blood had managed to get on her suit, staining the collar of her shirt. Another outfit she'd have to throw out because of blood stains.

"Like crap," she replied, surprised at the nasal quality of her voice. As she lowered the tissue again, Nick reached out, taking her chin in his hand. He turned her head towards him, gently running his fingers along her nose. She winced at the pain, but Nick didn't appear too worried.

Withdrawing his hands, he spoke. "I don't think it's broken," he told them thoughtfully. "Zoe would probably want to look her over, anyway."

Amy shook her head as she returned the tissue to her nose. "It's nothing," she mumbled. "I'll be fine once it's stopped bleeding."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I know, but Zo-Zo and Patrick are likely to deck me if I don't get you checked out."

Rolling her eyes, Amy finally nodded. "Yeah, I guess," she relented reluctantly. Sighing, she looked to Mark. "Where are Pat and Louis now?"

"Superintendent Barnett is in my office," Mark explained. "Pat's waiting in the interview room. Dash is keeping an eye on him." He paused, before leaning in and staring at Amy intently. "Do you have any idea who threw that punch?"

Amy closed her eyes thoughtfully as she tried to recall exactly what had happened in the reception area. Finally, she shook her head. "I don't remember, Boss," she admitted with a weak shrug. "It all happened too fast. I'm really sorry…"

Mark shook his head as he patted Amy's shoulder reassuringly. "It's fine," he told her with a smile. He looked up to Nick and nodded. "You better get her to the hospital. I'll get onto PJ; let him know what's happened." Nick nodded as he guided Amy to the door, remembering at the last second to grab the tissue box from the table. The two had only reached the doorway before Mark suddenly spoke again. "Ah, Amy?"

Stopping, Amy turned back to the table. "Yes Boss?"

Drawing in a deep breath to steady his nerves, Mark finally spoke. "I'm gathering from what took place today that Pat Doyle is Ringo's uncle…right?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah," she admitted in a soft, nasal whisper. "He is."

"That'd make Maggie Doyle his cousin," Nick mused, his voice causing Amy to look up to him in surprise. His expression was nostalgic and distant. "Does PJ know?"

Again, she nodded. "He was the one who worked it out."

Mark nodded thoughtfully, before waving towards Amy. "You two should get down to the hospital," he told them. He watched as Nick led Amy out of the mess room, before flopping down in one of the nearby plastic chairs. He passed a tired hand across his eyes. Somehow, a bad day had just gotten even worse.

* * *

Zoe stood at the nurse's counter, frowning distractedly as she rushed through some paperwork. It was the usual supply forms that everyone else was supposedly far too busy to fill out. Even Adam Cooper had started getting comfortable and fobbing off whatever paperwork he could. She barely noticed Nick and Amy approaching her until a large hand passed across her vision. It was Nick's.

Her head snapped up and her eyes widened as she took in the two police officers standing before her. Amy's nose had stopped bleeding, but she could see that her face was already starting to bruise a little. "What have you done to yourself?" she asked as she moved around to the other side of the counter and cupped Amy's chin in her palm. She turned it gently towards her to get a better look.

"She was hit," Nick explained, not waiting for Amy to find some explanation for what no one could really explain.

Zoe looked to him pointedly. "Well done, Sherlock," she mumbled sarcastically. "What I meant was who hit her and why."

Amy shrugged, wincing a little as Zoe prodded her nose. Somehow, Nick's touch hadn't been as painful. "There was a fight," she told her. "It all happened so fast…"

Zoe nodded, guiding her towards one of the cubicles. Once Amy was sitting, she resuming checking her nose. After a couple of minutes, she pulled away. "So," she began, placing her hands on her hips. "The good news is that it isn't broken."

Amy's eyes narrowed in confusion. "And the bad news?"

"There'll be some swelling and bruising for the next few days," Zoe added. "And you'll have a couple of black eyes too. But don't worry, that'll all be gone long before you walk down the aisle."

Nick cringed at Zoe's reference to the wedding. It had only been half an hour since he'd managed to reassure Amy that she could pull the wedding together – he didn't need Zoe dragging the stress back up again. Amy looked a little uncomfortable too, but in the end smiled a little. At least she was feeling a little better about the wedding.

* * *

Louis Barnett was sitting in Mark's chair by the time the Senior Sergeant returned to the office. He was leaning back, fingers intertwined behind his head, eyes closed in silent reflection. He didn't even realise Mark was there until he cleared his throat loudly. Sitting forward with a jolt, Louis' expression didn't falter. "How is Senior Detective Fox?"

Mark closed the door leading out into the muster room and leant back against it. "Sergeant Schultz is running her over to the hospital," he explained. "Her nose doesn't look broken, but there's no point risking it. I've also informed Senior Detective Hasham as to what has happened."

"Have you interviewed Doyle yet?" Louis asked bluntly. Mark found himself squirming slightly under Louis' icy stare.

"No," he answered simply. "Senior Detective Fox is unable to identify who hit her, so we're going to have to speak to both of you…"

Louis looked to Mark pointedly. "Have you ever looked at Pat Doyle's record, Senior Sergeant?" At Mark's blank stare, Louis continued. "Even before he took to revenge killings, he wasn't averse to using a punch or two to solve a problem. Two counts of assault police would definitely be a violation of his parole conditions."

Mark drew in a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Sir," he began, "with all due respect, your actions went well and above self-defence. By rights, we would have to charge you as well…"

A look of realisation crossed Louis' face. "I see," he grumbled. "I drop the charges, you don't charge me." He stood up and moved towards the door. "ESD would love to hear about this…"

"That is not what is going on here," Mark told him firmly, his voice attaining a tone that stopped Louis in his tracks. A little bemused by what had come over the Senior Sergeant, he sat back down again. "Did you hit Senior Detective Fox?"

Louis looked deeply offended. "How dare you even think of accusing me of such…such…" He stopped, suddenly realising that he couldn't quite find the word he wanted. He instead glared harshly at Mark. "Unless you have any evidence indicating that I was responsible, I am standing by my statement that Doyle assaulted Senior Detective Fox."

Recognising that he wasn't getting anything more from Louis, Mark left his office without another word. PJ was waiting for him in the muster room, tossing his car keys from hand to hand. The detective pounced on Mark with surprising speed. "What the hell happened?" he demanded breathlessly. "Where's Amy? Is she okay? Who the hell did this to her?"

Mark held up a hand simply, halting PJ's tirade of questions in its tracks. At PJ's expectant expression, he began to speak. "Nick's with her at the hospital. Zoe's just checking her out, making sure there's no damage. She'll probably be fine." PJ's expression seemed to relax a little at Mark's reassurances. He decided not to give PJ the chance to speak. "A fight broke out between Louis Barnett and Pat Doyle…"

PJ's panic suddenly vanished, replaced instead by disbelief. "What?"

"Superintendent Barnett is here to assess the running of the station. Pat showed up while he was visiting and despite Amy and Nick's best attempts to get rid of him…" Mark paused, watching as PJ buried his face in his hands.

"One of them went the biff, didn't they?"

Mark nodded. "They exchanged…ah…heated words. Louis Barnett insulted Pat and his family. Pat took a swing…" PJ swore under his breath, while Mark continued. "Louis blocked it, then landed a punch of his own. It just escalated so quickly. Nick, Amy and I tried to stop it, at some point she must have gotten in the way."

PJ stared at Mark with horror in his eyes. "So you don't know which one hit Amy?"

Mark shook his head. "Louis maintains it wasn't him. He claims it was Pat. I haven't spoken to Pat officially yet, but he seems pretty certain he didn't hit her either."

"I'm sitting in when you talk to Pat," he told him simply. He followed Mark to the interview room, only to stop outside the door and grab his boss' shoulder. "This would be enough to put Pat back inside, you realise that don't you?"

Nodding, Mark shrugged off PJ's hand. "I know," he replied, before leading him into the interview room.

Pat was waiting inside, chatting easily with Dash. She was perched on the corner of the desk, showing Pat her wallet. From where he stood, PJ could see that his old friend was busy showing off Phoebe's baby photos. For the first time since Mark had told him Amy had been injured, he found himself smiling.

"PJ, mate," Pat exclaimed, rising to his feet as PJ and Mark entered. "I didn't touch her. I swear to God I didn't lay a finger on her. Louis is lying. That stupid bastard is lying."

Mark shot Dash a brief glance. It was enough to encourage her to put away her wallet, get off the desk and sit down in a chair instead. Looking back to where Pat and PJ stood mere centimetres apart, Mark cleared his throat. "You said Superintendent Barnett was a murderer," he began, causing Pat to turn to him in surprise. "Why?"

Pat looked distinctly annoyed. Interest showed in PJ's face as he raised his eyebrows. He recalled the story Amy had found.

"Louis and I got the graveyard shift," Pat explained, finally sitting down as he massaged his temples furiously. "I wanted the shift to get out of the house for a bit. I had three kids under five and Maggie was only a baby. It was 1972 at the time."

The others nodded, waiting for Pat to continue. After a few seconds silence to regather his thoughts, he did. "The plainclothes were after some bloke who'd raped his sister-in-law, then bludgeoned her to death. We'd been warned to be cautious. The brass didn't want a couple of Constables dead."

Mark nodded thoughtfully. He was sure he could vaguely remember the case. It had happened before he had joined the force, but he could remember the media coverage. "I know the case," he mused. "He ended up dead in a police pursuit six months later. But I don't understand what this has to do with anything…"

"We stopped at a service station," Pat interrupted. "I went inside to grab something to eat; Louis kept an eye on the car. Two minutes later, I heard a gunshot. I came out to find an off-duty copper dead next to the car and Louis holding a smoking gun."

PJ's frown deepened. So far, this matched the article Amy had gotten her hands on. But Mark and Dash didn't have this knowledge, and were looking as perplexed as ever. At this latest revelation, a distinct look of horror crossed their faces. "He didn't…" Dash began, speaking for the first time since her discussion with Pat had been interrupted.

Pat sighed resentfully. "He claimed that he'd thought it was the killer approaching his car," he explained. "He said that the guy came out of the shadows and he was certain it was the murderer. So he shot."

"But you don't think it was self-defence and mistaken identity," PJ reminded him, sitting down on the edge of the desk and looking down at his almost-father-in-law pleadingly.

"The officer's name was Kieren Douglas," Pat added. "He was of another old policing family, just like Louis and me. He and Louis had had a rivalry since the Academy. Earlier that day, they'd had an almighty blue. When he turned up dead…"

Mark finally spoke. "But surely there was some sort of inquiry," he pointed out. "He must have been cleared. He's gone on to have such a brilliant career…"

Pat almost seemed to laugh. "They started an inquiry. But then Louis used his family connections to make any allegations against him disappear. We'll never know what he thought he was doing when he killed Kieren Douglas. He had it all swept under the carpet. And I could never forgive him for that."

Mark nodded thoughtfully while Dash looked away, disgusted, and PJ buried his face in his hands. Somehow, he couldn't quite believe that he was hearing this. He knew this kind of thing happened. He'd seen corruption in many of its forms, felt its consequences in more ways than one, but something about this revolted him. It certainly made Ringo's dislike of his father make a lot more sense.

"Ringo Barnett is your nephew, correct?" Mark asked, the words – and Pat's eventual nod – bringing on a new wave of silence. The greatest reaction came from Dash. After a few seconds, she was finally able to move. Realising what this meant, she tore out of the interview room, slamming the door behind her.

As he watched her go, PJ felt his heart sink in his chest. Dash had loved Maggie nearly as much as he had – in a very different way, albeit, but she had loved her all the same. For the last few months, she had bonded with Ringo, completely unaware that she was with her best friend's cousin. And, as much as he knew he had done the right thing in respecting Ringo's privacy, he found himself wondering if perhaps he should have told Dash.

"His mother was my sister," Pat explained. "She fell for Louis just weeks after the shooting. I made her choose between us and within a year, she was married to the bastard with their first on the way." He looked up to Mark, tiny traces of tears in his eyes. "You now know why this happened, but I didn't touch Amy. I wouldn't. I've done a lot of bad things, hurt a lot of people, but I've never hit a woman. And I never would."

"Not even in the heat of the moment?" Mark probed. Pat shook his head firmly in reply.

"Not even then."

* * *

Mark sighed as he left the interview room, closing the door behind him. PJ was already waiting outside in the corridor, arms folded across his chest as he leant against the wall. The Senior Sergeant approached him slowly. "He does have more of a tendency towards this sort of thing," he explained. "But…I believe him. I don't think he has it in him to hit a woman and certainly not Amy. I get the feeling he likes that girl."

PJ nodded, before finally looking up to meet Mark's eyes. "Louis did it," he told him simply. "I'd bet my life on it, if I had to. Unfortunately, he'd wriggle out of anything we stuck on him." He sighed as he looking away, his normally wise and gentle blue eyes now ablaze with frustration. "Louis Barnett hurt the woman I love and I want him to at least be forced to admit that. I never want anyone to hurt Amy and get away with it. But there isn't enough evidence to charge him."

"I'll have another chat to him, anyway," Mark mused. "Maybe he'll slip up."

"You can try," PJ remarked with a shrug, "but I don't think you'd achieve anything. Pat insists he didn't do it, Louis insists he didn't do it, Amy doesn't have a clue who it was and neither you nor Nick saw it either…no matter what we believe, there's no evidence." The anger passed through PJ's face along with another emotion that it took Mark a few seconds to process. It was as though his self-esteem had plummeted during the last five seconds.

Mark patted his arm reassuringly. "Don't give up just yet," he reminded him. "You never know what Louis might do next."

Nick and Amy chose that moment to enter through the back entrance, just a few metres away from where PJ and Mark were standing. Apart from some bruising and swelling and a blood stain on her shirt, Amy looked fine. Still, Nick kept close by, eyeing her as though she was about to collapse on him at any moment.

He was with her in seconds, wrapping his arms around her waist and planting a soft and brief kiss upon her lips. When they broke away, Amy's tired and distracted expression had become a smile. "You okay?" he asked as he reached up to run the back of his hand along her cheekbone.

She opened her mouth to reply, but Nick was faster. "Well, she's going to look like Marcia Brady after she got hit with that football for a few days, but other than that she'll be right."

PJ looked up to Nick, raising an eyebrow at his _Brady Bunch_ reference, before turning back to Amy. He let his smile broaden slightly as she spoke. "I'm fine," she confirmed. "It's just a little sore, that's all. Whoever hit me certainly knows how to throw a punch."

"Want me to kiss it better?" PJ asked, leaning in to kiss Amy's nose softly. Much to his surprise, she pushed him away.

She laughed at the wounded expression on PJ's face. "Of course you can kiss it better," she promised. "Just maybe after this mess is wrapped up, okay?"

She headed towards the CI office, where Nick and Mark were already waiting. PJ found himself grinning broadly and laughing back. "I'll hold you to that!" he vowed as he hurried after her.

* * *

Dash entered the Imperial, her eyes red from crying. The hankie that she always kept up her sleeve – a piece of handy advice from her mother that she hadn't forgotten – was crushed into a salty wet ball in her fist. She wasn't quite sure of why Pat's revelation had hurt her so much. If she'd known Ringo was Maggie's cousin all along, she was certain it wouldn't have bothered her in the slightest. All she knew was that she had to see him.

Upon seeing Dash, Chris deserted the beers she was pouring and hurried over to her. She wrapped an arm around her instinctively. "What's wrong?" she asked, stroking Dash's hair reassuringly. "Has something happened?"

She shook her head. "Amy's been punched in the nose, but…but that's not what's wrong…" she managed to choke out as Chris tried to guide her over towards a chair. She didn't let her. "I need…I need to see Ringo…is he here?"

Chris paused, a little uncertain. Finally, she spoke. "He is, but don't tell anyone else down at the station," she explained. At Dash's puzzled stare, she continued. "He came back pretty soon after he left. He said that he just couldn't stay at the station and asked me to cover if anyone asked. He's up in his room…"

Chris barely finished her sentence before Dash took off upstairs, using the railing to stop herself from losing her footing. When she reached Ringo's room, she didn't stop to knock. Instead, she threw the door open and moved into the doorway.

He was lying on his side on his blue bedspread, a back issue of some science magazine open in front of him. He'd leapt up in surprise when the door opened, and was now regarding Dash with a mixture of relief and fear. "Dash?" he asked hesitantly. "Are you okay? Has something happened?"

For a long moment, Dash couldn't answer. The tears and her run up the stairs had left her breathless. Finally, she brought herself to ask the one question that had been running through her mind since she'd left the station. "Why didn't you tell me you were Maggie's cousin?"

Ringo didn't reply at first. The two remained in a kind of stalemate until he finally curled up into a ball and let his head hang. "Because until last night I couldn't come to terms with it myself."

Dash seemed surprised at this. She invited herself inside, closing the door behind her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that…my Dad shamed them at every possible opportunity," he explained, finally looking up to let his gaze meet Dash's. "I've only just met Pat for the first time. I hate this, Dash. I really hate all of this."

The tears were forming in Ringo's eyes anew. A strong desire to soothe him ran through Dash and she soon found herself sitting beside him on the bed, holding his hand in hers. "Hate what?" she asked, although she was certain she knew the answer.

Ringo sighed as he shook his head in a kind of disbelief at how complicated his life had become. "Dad made Pat and his family into the bad guys. Now…I've come to this town and learnt that things were never that black and white." He looked up to Dash and found himself remembering his conversation with Pat the night before. "You were her best friend," he recalled.

Dash nodded. "And I know that people are right when they tell you that it wasn't that black and white because nothing is," she pointed out. Without thinking, she continued. "Besides, your Dad has a few things he shouldn't be proud of…" Suddenly realising where she was going, she released her grip on Ringo's hand and covered her mouth. "Oh crap," she swore in a muffled voice. "Forget it."

Ringo's eyes widened. "No," he insisted, shaking his head. "Tell me. What did my father do that he shouldn't be proud of?" Dash simply shook her head. "Please, Dash, don't do it to me too. Don't keep information from me because I'm too young or you think I shouldn't know. This is how this whole bloody mess started. Tell me."

Drawing in a deep breath to prepare herself, Dash finally nodded. "Okay," she agreed. "But if anyone decides to crucify me for this, I'm telling them you coerced me into it."

* * *

Mark, PJ and Amy entered the office where Louis was waiting, flipping through a report that had been left on Mark's desk. His expression was disapproving. "This handwriting is hardly worthy of a five year old, Senior Sergeant," he mumbled. "Who wrote this dog's breakfast of a report?"

Recognising his untidy scrawl, PJ drew himself up to his full height and clasped Amy's hand tighter in his. "Ah, that would be me, Sir."

Louis shot PJ a thoughtful glare. For a moment, it seemed he was going to comment, only for PJ's cold demeanour to change his mind. It was very clear that the assault on Amy had affected his opinion of him. He set the report aside and looked back to the three officers. His gaze travelled across them to rest on Amy. "How is the nose?"

"I'll live," Amy replied simply.

Mark folded his arms across his chest. "Sir, I am going to ask you for the final time – did you assault Senior Detective Fox during the argument in the reception area today?"

"No," Louis answered coolly. There was something about his tone and expression that the others didn't trust. "I did not assault Senior Detective Fox. My actions towards Patrick Doyle were self-defence and I will be making these points in court when he goes to trial for assault police…"

Louis was cut off when the door opened, without so much as a knock. Nick stood in the doorway, looking a little edgy, but still somehow satisfied. Mark looked up to him with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. "What do you think you're doing Sergeant?" he demanded in a hiss.

"Chris just rang," Nick explained. "Dash showed up at the pub in tears and wanting to see Ringo. Five minutes later, he came down in a huff, telling Chris that he was going to the station and that his father couldn't get away with it anymore." Nick's gaze switched to Louis. "Your son doesn't seem like a happy chappy, Sir."

Mark looked up to Nick and nodded. He thanked him and shooed him back out into the muster room. By the time he looked back to Louis, he was looking distinctly on edge. Louis couldn't meet Mark's gaze when he spoke. "This interview is over, Senior Sergeant," he grumbled. He rose to his feet and headed for the door. He stopped at the last minute and turned back to Mark. He paused for a few seconds, before finally raising his gaze. "I'm not going to press charges against Doyle," he mumbled. "You know, it'll be better for Ringo…" Without another word, he slipped out of the office and made a beeline for the mess room.

PJ raised an eyebrow as he looked over to Amy. "If he's dropping the charges for Ringo's sake, then I'm the Chief Commissioner."

Amy craned her neck to watch as Louis bumped into Nick on his way to the mess room, became flustered and kept walking even faster. She found herself laughing with amusement. "I think he's trying to hide," she chuckled in disbelief.

PJ nodded and pulled Amy close as he planted a tender kiss upon her cheek. "I think I'm going to go give Pat the good news," he told her. "I'll keep him clear of Ringo and Louis. I think we've had enough punch-ups for one day."

* * *

Louis was in the mess room when Ringo stormed in, his blood nearly close to boiling. It almost frightening to see a man who was usually so even tempered this angry. He slammed the door behind him and leant back against it, trying to catch his breath. "Dash told me what happened to Kieren Douglas," he began.

"She had no right…" Louis mumbled, turning away to the sink, just so that he didn't have to meet his son's accusing eyes.

"At least she told me the whole truth," Ringo pointed out. "She's about the only one who ever has. Everyone else has always just told me bits and pieces of the truth, censoring it for their purpose."

Louis still didn't turn around. "I was trying to protect you," he mumbled down to the sink.

Ringo grew more outraged. "Protect me?" he scoffed. "How did you think you were going to be protecting me by painting the Doyles as the bad guys? I'm as much related to them as I am to anyone in your family. You kept feeding us kids lies and half-truths and I don't think you'll ever understand how much we missed out on. We'll never get the chance to know our Aunty Kathleen. Or our cousins Robbie, Mick and Maggie. Mick was a rotten apple, Robbie was a junkie, but they were our cousins! We had the right to know them!"

"They were all dead by the time you turned twelve," Louis mumbled.

"And that excuses it, does it?" Ringo cried, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. "You spent years and years painting them all as bad guys, corrupt coppers, drug dealers, junkies…but you never told us the truth. Life is never that black and white, Dad! It can't be. They weren't perfect, but they were people. Not stereotypes."

Louis frowned, and finally mustered the courage to turn around to face his youngest son. "I know that," he admitted.

Ringo continued on, as though he hadn't heard. "And the whole time, Dad, the whole time…you were hiding the secret that you'd killed a man and abused your family history with the force to make the problem disappear."

"I did not kill Kieren on purpose," Louis explained. "We were all scared out of our wits! We'd all seen the photos of what the killer had done to his sister-in-law. I still have nightmares about how badly she was beaten. So when some bloke - same height, same build – walks out of the shadows towards you, you assume the worst. I was certain that I had a violent rapist and murderer coming at me and I was going to be damned if he got me. I didn't know it was Kieren until after I'd killed him."

"It doesn't matter that you killed him, Dad!" Ringo pointed out. His voice was coming closer and closer to hysterics. He was finally saying the things he'd been bottling up for his entire life, and it somehow felt good. Like a weight slowly disappearing from his chest. "You didn't let the system deal with it properly. You just had a few high ranking relatives sweep it under the carpet. You always told us that the system was everything, that we have to do things by the book and let the system do its thing. You're a hypocrite! You've always pretended to be so high and mighty, but you couldn't even admit that you'd made a mistake."

Louis sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Horror passed through Ringo's face at this. "You still can't, can you?" he asked, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. "You spent years drumming into us that Pat Doyle was such a bad man but…you're worse. At least he can admit what he is, what he has been and face up to the consequences of that. You've had thirty-seven years to face up to what you did and you still can't." He drew in a deep breath to calm himself down. He didn't want his father to think that what he said next was simply the product of hysterics. "You've treated me like crap compared to the others, you've lied to me and you've been a complete hypocrite. I'm not letting you mess with my life anymore. Goodbye, Dad."

With that, Ringo turned and walked out of the mess room, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

* * *

Dash stood, leaning against one of the wooden fences on Charlie McKinley's farm. Phoebe was still inside, playing with Charlie's two daughter and Charlie was approaching her, two mugs in his hands. He stood beside Dash and offered her one containing tea. "Here's that herbal muck you drink," he laughed as she took it. "As for me, I think I'll stick with the good old McKinley coffee." At the lack of response from Dash, Charlie found himself becoming concerned. "Is something wrong?"

She looked over to him in surprise, jolted from her daydream. "What?"

"You just seem a bit…distant," he replied with a thoughtful shrug. "I was just wondering what was wrong. Adam Cooper hasn't done anything to hurt you again, has he?"

Chuckling weakly at the absurdity of Charlie's question, especially given Adam's offer earlier that day, Dash shook her head. "Nah, it's got nothing to do with Adam." Pausing thoughtfully, she continued. "Well, actually it does. But not in the way you're thinking."

Charlie frowned and looked at her pointedly. "So what is it then? You can tell me, Dash. I know how to keep a secret."

"It's work," she explained, her eyes becoming increasingly distracted as she thought over the CI job. "I got a job offer yesterday. With Shepparton CI."

Charlie made a low whistling sound. "I'm impressed," he told her. He soon chuckled. "Well, not really. I've always known you've had it in you." His look of pride and surprise soon turned to one of concern. "You haven't accepted it though, have you?"

She shook her head. "I don't know if it would be the right thing, Charlie," she sighed dismally. "I want to be a detective, but I don't know if I could force Adam and Phoebe to make the move. Adam's already promised me it'll be fine, but…I just don't know."

"You want to know what I think?" Charlie asked, downing a mouthful of his coffee. Dash nodded eagerly. She was more than happy for someone else to tell her what to do. She'd hoped Amy would tell her she wasn't ready and she'd hoped Adam would say no, but both had simply given wishy washy answers to her dilemma. "I think you don't want to go."

Surprise crossed Dash's face. "What?"

Charlie offered her his warm smile, the one that had always put her at ease. "I know you, Dash. You're…you're impulsive. You know what you want and, when you want something, you don't run around seeking other people's approval. I remember when you first called me, telling me you were pregnant. You could have only known for a couple of days, realised you were going to be doing this on your own for less, yet you'd already made up your mind. Even my wife wasn't that sure when she was pregnant with Macca, and she had no reason to doubt anything."

Dash thought through Charlie's words. There was a truth there and one she couldn't deny. "You think so?"

He nodded. "If you really wanted to go to Shepparton, you'd have accepted that offer by now, regardless of what Adam or I said. In fact, you probably wouldn't have bothered seeking our approval. The fact that you're standing here, practically asking my permission to go, tells me you don't want this. Not really."

She knew he'd hit home. He was right. She'd never been this indecisive about anything before. She wasn't a 'pros and cons list' kind of girl. She knew what she wanted and would go for it. Asking people's permission like this was out of character. "I've got everything I've ever wanted," she mused, staring down into the depths of her tea. "I've got a job I love, some of the best friends I've ever had and ever will have, Adam and Phoebe…not to mention you, Macca and Kirsty." She sighed. "And Mt. Thomas," she added as a smile crossed her face. "I love this town and everything about it." She laughed as Charlie reached over to pull her close to his chest. "And to think I was about to throw that away so I can run around in a suit instead of a uniform. I think I've made my decision. Dash McKinley isn't going anywhere."

Charlie grinned. He knew Dash had reached the right decision. She seemed so much happier now she'd decided to stay, like a weight had disappeared from her shoulders. Dash McKinley was here to stay.

_I'll never leave_

_This small town girl behind_

_The place where I came from_

_Is with me all the time_

* * *

Amy lay on her back on the bed she shared with PJ, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. She had the ear buds of her new iPod in her ear and her favourite David Bowie song played softly. The iPod was a white Nano and had arrived two weeks ago as an early birthday present from Brendan and Chloe. When Brendan had rung to apologise for not being able to make it to the wedding, she'd told him that she couldn't accept such an extravagant gift from him. In the end, Chloe had persuaded her to keep it. It wasn't just a birthday present – it was a thank you gift for helping them after Megan died.

Without her even realising it, PJ had joined her on the bed. She gently sat the iPod aside and let him pull her against his chest. She felt so safe there, so comfortable. Just the feeling of being against his chest eased all the stress and pain from that day. She smiled instinctively as he whispered in her ear. "So can I kiss it better now?"

She found herself laughing; a little surprised PJ had remembered her promise. Things had become a little crazy, she was certain that he would have been too caught up with other thoughts to remember. But he had. "If you want," she told him. He gently pressed his lips to the skin of her nose, his touch almost completely removing the dull throbbing pain. "You better enjoy this," she chuckled. "I'm going to look pretty disgusting for the next couple of days. Zoe said it'd get a bit worse before it got better."

Blue eyes met green as PJ's expression became one of surprise. "You'll always be beautiful to me, Amez," he vowed. "Always."

Her eyes clouded over with tears as PJ's hand drifted up from her waist to her cheek. It was as though he thought he could make her believe his words just by the power of his touch. "I don't feel very beautiful right now," she whispered.

"You are," he whispered. "You are extremely beautiful. Not just on the outside, but on the inside. You've been through enough to break the strongest among us, but you're still my strong, beautiful Amy. The only thing in life I could ever regret is growing old without you."

_You're beautiful, you're beautiful_

_You're beautiful, it's true_

She stared at him, a little bit of disbelief in her eyes. PJ could see it instantly. Every time he told her she was beautiful, she didn't quiet believe it, but every time the disbelief lessened slightly. It was almost gone now. "Older, you mean," she joked. He put on an expression of mock offence, which disappeared almost as soon as it came over him.

"I found the perfect place today," he told her. Amy stared at him curiously, silently inviting him to continue. "It's this gorgeous little garden. It's secluded and green and there's all these beautiful flowers. I'll take you out there tomorrow."

Amy raised an eyebrow, impressed. "So this was the secret wedding business, huh?"

He nodded as he pulled her close again, kissing her cheek tenderly. "It's going to be perfect, Amy. It's going to be the most beautiful day. You are going to make the most beautiful bride."

She found herself grinning at this. Everyone had tried to reassure her that this wedding was going to be perfect and she hadn't quite believed them. But she believed PJ when he said it. As she kissed him, she found herself looking forward to the wedding again.

**Next episode... "Love, Pain and the Whole Damn Thing"**

As Amy and PJ's wedding approaches, the Heelers are distracted when two of their own disappear while camping in the National Park. Old friends and colleagues return to celebrate.


	5. Ep 25: Love, Pain & the Whole Damn Thing

**Episode 25: "Love, Pain and the Whole Damn Thing"**

_Summary: As Amy and PJ's wedding approaches, the Heelers are distracted when two of their own disappear while camping in the National Park. Old friends and colleagues return to celebrate._

_Lyrics come from "She's The One" by Robbie Williams, "Girls Just Want To Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper, "Cries Too Hard" by The Whitlams, "Wait for Me" by Theory of a Deadman, "Made Me Hard" by The Whitlams, "Beautiful Girl" by INXS, "Last Life" by The Whitlams, "Closer" by Dido, "Make the World Safe" by The Whitlams and "Bubbly" by Colbie Caillat._

Amy laughed as she watched PJ tear back and forth, stuffing random objects into two oversized khaki bags. The wedding was less than five days away and Nick had decided that, rather than holding a more traditional buck's party, he'd take PJ camping in the National Park. She'd thought the idea was hilarious. She didn't think PJ had ever camped out a day in his life. Nick had told her that he figured it would get PJ more out of his comfort zone than a traditional boozy party, but she knew there was more than that.

PJ finally stopped, nodding slowly to himself as he grabbed up his thick wool-lined black jacket – a defence against the cold June winds that made this whole plan seem even more laughable. "I think that's everything," he mumbled.

Amy frowned as she surveyed his luggage. "Except the sleeping bag," she pointed out. He swore loudly as he took off down the hallway to retrieve it. He returned minutes later and slammed it down on top of the two bags he'd already packed. She shook her head at him in disbelief. "Please tell me this is some kind of joke," she told him. "You can't seriously tell me you're planning on going camping if you can't even remember the sleeping bag!"

He grinned cheekily. "What?" he asked. "You'd prefer it if I ended up tarred and feathered and tied naked to a lamp post?"

She shrugged. "It'd give me a good excuse to beat Nick to a pulp," she laughed as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. If she was honest, she didn't want him to go. Not if that meant leaving her at the mercy of her bridesmaids, all of which seemed very keen on the hen's night to end all hen's nights.

"And we all know how much you'd love that," PJ chuckled as he pressed his lips to hers. Moments later, he pulled away. "Everything is going to be fine. Chris, Dash and Zoe may have made a big deal about the hen's night, but they're not going to be doing anything you don't want them to. Everything's organised. Everything's perfect. All you've got to do is enjoy your last few days as an unmarried woman and play hostess when our visitors arrive."

Tess, Jonesy and Ben were due to arrive within the next couple of days. Unlike Pat, they hadn't felt the need to show up three weeks early. She'd been a little wary of both Jonesy and Ben coming. She still remembered the tensions between them after the bombing. But PJ had reassured her that it would be alright. He'd told her that a lot could change in five years. None of the things that had torn their friendship apart applied anymore. Besides, Tess could keep Jonesy on a leash, PJ had pointed out.

"Just as long as you don't do anything stupid," she told him with a smile. "I want to marry you in one piece."

He ran a finger idly along her cheekbone. "Of course I wouldn't do anything stupid," he laughed. "If this is what the chains of marriage feel like, then bring on the chains! I'm your prisoner."

She laughed and broke the connection of their eyes for a moment. "My prisoner," she chuckled. "That's alright, then. Just as long as it's a life sentence."

PJ grinned as he moved in for another kiss, only to jump at a knock at the door. It was soon followed by Nick's booming voice. "Oi, Patrick, can the best man come in?"

"He's already in," PJ called back. Amy hit him gently in the arm as she slipped out of his grasp.

Nick opened the front door, mouthing a silent 'ha, ha' as the early morning light filtered in from behind him. He was wearing a thick red coat and jeans, with what appeared to be sturdy hiking boots. Amy had to admit, he looked a little more prepared than PJ did. It made her feel a little better. "You ready?" he asked, looking in PJ's direction.

PJ nodded as he grabbed up his bags. "Ready as I'll ever be," he replied. He stole another kiss from Amy as he headed for the door.

"Nick!" Amy called as she followed the two men out to Nick's four wheel drive. It didn't do much to reassure her. It looked more like it was used to running around the city than the National Park. He turned back to face her. "Look after him, alright? I want my fiancé back in one piece."

Nick looked a little disappointed. "So no murdering him and dumping his body in a place no one would ever find it?" She shot him a death glare and he raised his arms in defeat. "Alright, alright, Foxtrot, you win. PJ comes back unharmed." He shook his head as his play disappointment intensified. "Way to ruin my day. Just don't get up to anything naughty with the stripper, Foxtrot."

Amy groaned. "Forget me getting up to anything naughty," she explained. "If there's even a stripper at all, I will personal lynch all three of the bridesmaids."

PJ dumped his bags in the back of the car before pulling Amy close again. He traced her cheekbone with his thumb before drawing her in for another long kiss. He let his hands run through her silky chocolate hair before finally – reluctantly – relinquishing her. His eyes lingered for a long time on her face, before he climbed into the car. "See you later, Amez," he told her as Nick pulled the car away. "Love you!"

"I love you too!" Amy called back, waving for the twenty seconds it took for Nick's four wheel drive to disappear from sight. She sighed despondently as she headed back inside the now empty house. It seemed oddly quiet without PJ there. It had always been 'his' house, even though her name had been on the mortgage for over a year. As the wedding drew closer, it became increasingly clear that it was hers as well.

Dissatisfied with the quiet – which was unusual in itself – she headed for his CD player. She rifled through their music collection for a few minutes before pulling out an old Robbie Williams CD. She put it on and switched it up loud, for the first time realising that there was no need to worry about disturbing the neighbours as there had been in her flat in Melbourne, or even the one she used to have in Mt. Thomas.

As she headed to the bathroom to get ready for work, she found herself singing along. She found herself surprised at how comfortable she felt with everything. She had the feeling married life would suit her. Or, at least, married life with PJ.

_When you get to where you wanna go  
__And you know the things you wanna know  
__You're smiling_

* * *

Pat was already sitting at the bar when Ringo came downstairs, ducking to avoid running into a pink streamer that was hanging from the ceiling near the staircase. His mouth dropped open as he entered the public bar. Chris had certainly had fun decorating for the hen's night.

Almost as though she had heard her thoughts, she popped into view, her blazing red curls pulled off her face in a loose ponytail that left ringlets framing her face. Some more streamers were hanging over her shoulder. She looked a little disappointed at the overwhelmed expression on Ringo's face. "You don't think I went a little overboard, do you?"

Pat chuckled into his lemonade. "Like the crew of the Titanic," he answered, before Ringo had a chance to respond.

Walking past him as she slipped behind the bar, she whacked him over the head playfully. "You know you guys are going to have to find somewhere else to stay tonight."

Ringo sat down beside Pat as he stared at Chris blankly. "What?" he asked in confusion. "You never mentioned that…"

Chris grinned – she was obviously enjoying herself. "It's the hen's night tonight," she reminded him. "That means women only. You men are going to have to find somewhere else to sleep."

"Hey, hey!" Pat began, an expression of mock offence on his face. "It's not our fault that PJ wimped out of a buck's night so we have nothing to do. Anyway, where do you expect us to sleep?"

She shrugged. "You do have a caravan parked outside, you know. You boys could have a camp out."

Ringo cringed inwardly at the idea. He liked Pat, but he didn't know if he was ready to spend a whole night in a confined space with him. He opened his mouth to beg Chris not to kick them out, but the door opened first.

"Hey guys!" Dash cried as she entered. Pat and Ringo spun automatically at the sound of her voice, and immediately Ringo's eyes bugged out of his head a little. He'd already known Dash was beautiful, but he'd never imagined she could look like a supermodel. She was wearing new denim jeans and a long-sleeved blue top and her hair hung loose around her face.

Chris' eyes lit up. She took Dash's bag from her and stashed it under the bar before either Pat or Ringo had a chance to see what it was. The two women soon turned on the men and began to force them out the door. "Get out!" Chris told them, laughing as she spoke.

Pat struggled against her, but it was only a token effort. If he'd really wanted to stop Chris, he could have flattened her in seconds. "What about my lemonade?"

She didn't answer. Instead she kept forcing Pat out the door. Finally, she managed to get him out onto the veranda, closely followed by Ringo. Dash and Chris stood in the doorway, smiling at the two stunned men before them. "Enjoy your night, boys," Dash told them with a laugh as she closed the door in their faces.

After a few seconds, Pat finally turned to Ringo and nodded over to the car park. "Suppose I'd better show you the caravan," he told him with a chuckle. "We've got no hope of fighting those women…especially once Amy and Zoe show up."

* * *

By the time Amy pulled her little Vee Dub Beatle into the Imperial Hotel car park, Zoe's car had joined Dash's. Her stomach began tying itself into knots. She didn't like these girly night things. She'd never really been to one before, but she'd seen enough on TV and heard enough about them. It was all she could hope for that there wouldn't be a stripper.

As she slipped into the pub, she was pounced upon by Chris, Dash and Zoe. It the confusion, she could scarcely work out which was which. It wasn't until Dash spoke that she realised that it was her who had her right hand. "We're going to start with a movie," she declared.

"What kind of movie?" she asked warily. She felt her handbag leave her shoulder as Zoe whisked it away somewhere. Probably to hide the car keys so she couldn't escape, she thought dryly.

The chaos paused momentarily as the three bridesmaids shared an astonished stare, as though in disbelief that Amy had even felt the need to ask. "Chick flick, duh!" Chris replied as the dragged resumed. It continued until they'd reached the Parlour, where the chairs had been set up facing a television set.

Dash forced her into one chair, while the others began digging through a pile of DVDs. Finally, they came up waving a copy of _Clueless_. Amy groaned inwardly. She'd always hated that film.

Within minutes, Zoe had the DVD playing and Chris was passing around glasses of wine. While Zoe and Chris both eagerly took one, Dash stuck to her usual orange juice. Sighing, Amy took a glass. She got the feeling she was going to need every drop to get through this night.

* * *

By midnight, they'd finished a few more chick flicks, slowly moving away from the ditzy American teen variety and onto the British variety. They seemed to be better, Amy decided, although she wasn't entirely sure if that was due to the movie quality or the fact that she was steadily getting tipsy. She tried not to be as obvious about it as Chris and Zoe, or even Dash's play-drunkenness. She didn't want her closest female friends to be able to use this against her in years to come.

"Looks like we've finished the movies," Chris declared, giggling a little as she spoke. The sight was almost disturbing for Amy. She'd never imagined Chris drunk and had never wanted to.

"Time for games!" Zoe added, giggling almost as much. That was possibly more disturbing. It made Amy cringe a bit to watch the woman who had saved her life in the past now under the influence.

Dash grinned as she looked over to Amy. "How about…what we thought of each other when we first met?"

Chris and Zoe agreed enthusiastically. It almost made Amy queasy to watch two grown women, well into their forties, acting like giggling schoolgirls who'd gotten into some wine. Inwardly, she groaned again. She didn't think she wanted to have to say what she thought of anyone when she'd first met them.

"What about PJ?" Chris suggested as she curled up in her chair. "We could talk about what we thought of him when we first met him." As she said that, her gaze drifted to Amy. It was obvious that all any of them cared about was what she'd thought. "Well," she began with a laugh, "I thought he was such a conceited bastard. Like he thought he was too good for this town. He thought the whole world revolved around him."

Zoe grinned. "I thought he was a sticky beak," she added. "He couldn't keep his nose out of my business. He's worse than the bloody hospital board!"

Amy shuffled uncomfortably. As Dash began to speak, she checked her watch. It was past midnight and she'd probably be sleeping if she was at home, but she got the feeling that sleep wasn't very high on the agenda for her bridesmaids.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

In less than an hour, things had gotten very bizarre. Chris and Zoe seemed to be getting even more drunk and giggly and were now dancing to some old Cyndi Lauper song in the public bar. Amy didn't think they'd last much longer. Anymore wine and the two would probably be falling asleep on the floor. She found herself smiling a little as she watched them from her stool at the bar. They were going to have dreadful hangovers come morning, but at least they were enjoying themselves.

_When the working day is done  
__Oh girls just want to have fun_

Despite not having touched a drop of alcohol, Dash was enjoying herself too. She was dancing with Chris and Zoe, but her movements were much less clumsy, much more controlled. Amy supposed that came from being the only one in the room with a nil blood alcohol level.

Just as the song finished, so did the dancing. It was as if, at that moment, they'd realised that Amy wasn't dancing and making a fool of herself with them. Suddenly, they leapt on her, dragging her out onto the floor as the next song began.

"Hey, come on guys," Amy protested. "I'm tired…let's just call it a night, huh?

They ignored her. She sighed as she reluctantly began to dance along with them. She supposed if she couldn't beat them, she was going to have to join them. Besides, surely they couldn't keep going much longer.

* * *

It was mid afternoon before Amy awoke, her head pounding. It took her a few minutes before she could remember what had happened the night before. She hadn't had that much to drink, at least not in comparison to Chris and Zoe, but she still felt queasy. She'd never been much of a drinker.

She could hear Zoe in the next room, moaning loudly about her aching head, while Chris hummed happily as she headed down the hallway. Apparently Chris could sober up quicker than the rest of them. Dash had gone home – as the only one who wasn't drinking, she was the only one who could drive and had decided to go help Adam with baby-sitting duties.

She'd been wrong when she'd thought that Chris and Zoe couldn't keep going. They could and did. It had been well after four before Zoe finally burned out and, even then, Chris probably could have kept going. It had been almost sickening, watching two women older than she was, drinking themselves silly. Lying still in bed, hoping to get rid of her mini-hangover, she vowed never to attend a hen's night again. At least, not one organised by Chris, Zoe and Dash.

It was a good half hour before she popped a couple of Panadol and headed downstairs. Chris was still cleaning up from the night before, gathering streamers from the floor. As Amy reached the foot of the stairs, she tore the pink streamer from the ceiling before it could flap in her face.

Chris smiled. "Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes!" she exclaimed.

Amy winced. "Not so loud," she moaned. "At least not for a couple of hours."

"At least you're doing better than Zoe," Chris chuckled. "She reckons she's dying in there. I reckon she'll never try to drink me under the table again."

"I agree," Amy mumbled as she flopped down in the nearest chair. "You're more likely to die of liver failure first."

Chris laughed. She headed into the kitchen and, a few minutes later, returned with a bowl of Coco Pops. Amy looked at them in bemusement for a few seconds before looking up to Chris. "Chocolate," she explained. "Sugar. Very bad for you, but it's my favourite hangover cure. If that doesn't work, you can always try PJ's pet cure."

"What?"

Chris leant in and lowered her voice. "A super greasy hamburger with the lot."

The thought made Amy want to vomit. She cringed. "I think I'll stick with the Coco Pops, thanks."

"Thought you might," Chris laughed, just as a knock sounded at the door. She rolled her eyes. "Read the sign! We're closed!"

There was a moment's silence before a familiar voice replied. "Oh, come on. I come all this way and for what? A closed sign?"

As Amy gulped down a spoonful of Coco Pops, she tried to associate the voice with a name. It only took a second. "Ben Stewart," she said to herself as Chris leapt across the bar to let him in.

Amy spun to take him in. Five years hadn't changed him much. His blonde hair was swept back off his face and his eyes met her warmly as he pulled Chris into a hug. Once she relinquished her grip, he crossed the room to sit in the chair beside her. He smiled at her as he took her in. "Got a little drunk last night, did we?" he asked with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes at Ben. "Blame Annie over there," she mumbled as she tried to swallow down her mouthful. "And her accomplices."

Ben raised an eyebrow as he turned to Chris. "Annie?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah, you know," she replied. "Little girl, curly red hair, always singing about 'betting your bottom dollar'…"

He laughed as her reference sunk in. "Good one," he chuckled. "So…where's PJ?"

"Off in the National Park with Nick," she explained. "They decided that'd be a better way for him to spend his last few days of bachelorhood than a traditional buck's party."

Ben looked a little disappointed. "Shame," he sighed. "I was looking forward to leaving PJ tied naked to a pole of some description."

As Ben studied her, Amy suddenly turned red. She wasn't fit to be entertaining visitors. All she had on were her old Winnie the Pooh pyjamas and a pair of slippers. "I'd better go get changed into something half-respectable," she told him as she excused herself. Dashing upstairs, she threw on the spare top and pants that she'd brought with her.

As she returned to the public bar, she pulled a dark scarf around her neck and her hair back into a ponytail. Despite her hangover, she looked nearly as neat and tidy as usual. "I think I might go for a walk, Chris," she explained. "It might help my head clear up a bit."

"I'll join you!" Ben offered and followed her out of the pub.

As they moved out onto the footpath, Amy looked up to him. "So how was your flight?"

He turned a strange shade of red. "I, ah…wasn't in Perth." At Amy's puzzled stare, he continued. "I was in Melbourne. I moved there last month, not long after the wedding invitation arrived. I probably wouldn't have been able to make it otherwise."

"Why?" she asked in confusion. "I thought you wanted to be with your kids."

He nodded. "I did," he explained. "Emma's starting uni. She was accepted into a course at Melbourne Uni. Her mother wanted her to apply to a Perth uni, but Emma never really liked Western Australia. She asked me to come with her and I figured I may as well. Josh is nearly finished school now and Maddie's married – which quite frankly, scares the hell out of me."

She smiled. "Sounds like you're not doing too badly," she pointed out. "So what have you been doing with yourself…when you're not a full-time dad?"

"I've actually crossed over to the dark side," Ben explained with a laugh. "I was working with one of the Perth papers and now I've got a job with a paper in Melbourne. I'm a journo now."

Amy froze and stared at him with wide eyes. "A journalist?"

"Well…that's my proper job, anyway." Ben laughed. "Other than that, I've been writing. Crime fiction, mainly. The protagonist is a lovable loser whose wife has walked out and he's stuck working in an average country town with an above average crime rate…"

She chuckled. "Complete fiction, I'm sure."

He winked as he nodded before his expression became a little distant and love-struck. He ran a hand through his hair as he began to speak again, this time with a softer tone. "And I've got myself a girlfriend too…and I think it's for real this time."

"Anyone I know?" Amy asked with raised eyebrows.

He shook his head. "Probably not. Not unless PJ's told you about Robyn Taylor." Ben took Amy's blank look as a no. "She worked here about ten years back. She was nice. She and her husband wanted to move to the country, start a vineyard. He wasn't exactly on the straight and narrow though, kind of ruined everything for them and she headed back to the city."

"So how did you meet up again?" she asked curiously. She was glad to hear that Ben had moved on with his life, especially since the last thing she remembered of him was a broken man, feeling lost in his job and rejected by Susie.

He laughed. "I was actually covering a case she was working on. I showed up at a press conference she and a few colleagues were holding, we kind of hit it off. I was surprised to hear she was single – apparently she and her husband called it quits a few months after they'd left Mt. Thomas. The only annoying thing is that we've got to keep it low-key."

"Emma not comfortable with you dating?" Amy asked with a shrug. Ben shook his head as he looked to the sky thoughtfully.

"Actually, Emma's really happy for me. She's always wanted me to find a new wife – there was a time when she was really set on that being Maggie." He smiled a little at the memory. "It's actually Robyn's daughter, Lucy. She's eleven – absolutely gorgeous and she adores Emma. She doesn't remember her parents being together or splitting up, but she still kind of hopes that they'd get back together. It'll take her a while to get used to the idea of a step-father."

Amy smiled at how happy Ben seemed. "I'm really happy for you, Ben," she told him. "You deserve something to go right. Just as long as I feature as flatteringly as possible in those books you're writing."

"What? As the beautiful wife of the cynical old detective?" Ben laughed, only to earn a slap on the arm from Amy in response. "Nah…got to get a publisher first. They're not quite Agatha Christie, but it's just some fun." He looked to her with a cheeky grin. "So how's the hangover?"

Amy groaned. "If I ever agree to let those women organise anything like this ever again, you have my full permission to shoot me." She brightened up a little before continuing. "I'm not too bad, I suppose. Just a bit of a headache. At least I wasn't as stupid as Zoe Hamilton and tried to outdrink Chris Riley."

Ben shook his head in disbelief. "That is stupid," he agreed. "Trust me – I've tried it. No one can drink that woman under the table." He laughed as another memory came to mind. "Although PJ has come pretty close."

* * *

Amy's hangover was gone by the time Tess and Jonesy arrived that evening. Zoe's wasn't though – she was out of bed, but wandered the public bar, groaning about her aching head. Ben was delighting in teasing her…almost as much as Dash was delighting in teasing him about Robyn Taylor.

Someone had decided to give the children red cordial, so Travis and Trevor Schultz were more mischievous than usual, Evan Gallagher was running around after them, attempting to copy everything his newfound heroes did, while Phoebe McKinley had worn herself to the point of exhaustion and was sleeping in Adam's lap.

The night had been another late one – something that did not please Amy much. She was tired and more interested in sleep than chatting to people who were more PJ's friends than hers. It was nearly midnight before Dash and Adam decided Phoebe needed to get some sleep, followed closely by Tess and Jonesy heading upstairs with little Evan. It was then that Amy decided to leave and, recognising that Zoe was probably still not in any state to drive, offered to drop her and the boys home.

About half-way to Nick and Zoe's house, Zoe turned to Amy and offered her a sheepish look. "Sorry," she apologised.

Amy looked to her in confusion. "What for?"

Zoe smiled weakly. "You didn't enjoy the hen's night much, did you?"

For a moment, Amy couldn't respond. As much as she hadn't liked the hen's night, she knew that Chris, Dash and Zoe had gone to a lot of effort and she didn't want to offend her. She shrugged. "It was okay."

"You hated it," Zoe decided with a sigh. When Amy didn't reply, she took it as a yes. "We'll organise another hen's night. You can tell us what you want this time. A movie, a nice dinner…whatever."

Amy shook her head. "It's okay," she reassured her with a smile. "It doesn't matter. I'm not getting married to have a good hen's night. It's fine." She chuckled a little. "I think we both ought to chalk it up to experience, though. I won't be drinking that much again."

Zoe laughed. "I'll drink to that."

* * *

It was a couple of days before the wedding when Amy found herself at the station, biting down on a biro as she dug through the unsorted piles of paperwork on PJ's desk. His apparent lack of organisation had never bothered her before – in fact, he seemed to work better in a state of ordered mess. But today, she had no patience for it. A case previously scheduled for a month's time had been brought forward to next week and she had to find and finish the brief PJ had been working on. Unfortunately, it appeared to be buried.

As a movement of her arm sent several reports and a photo frame crashing to the floor, she found herself swearing in annoyance. "Bloody hell, Peej," she cursed. "A little organisation wouldn't kill you."

While she was crouched down, gathering the mess on the floor together, Mark entered the office. He chuckled a little. "This isn't usual bride-to-be behaviour."

Amy looked up to Mark, a hint of a smile crossing her features. "Well, most brides-to-be don't have to contend with a cranky police prosecutor and PJ's complete lack of organisation. If I don't find the Wilkinson brief before the honeymoon…" Mark shook his head to silence her as he crouched down to help gather the files together. She offered him a grateful smile as they dumped it back on PJ's desk. "Ta."

"You ought to be taking it easy," he pointed out as he motioned for her to sit down. She flopped down into PJ's office chair and passed a hand across her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping as well as usual since PJ and Nick had been away. She knew it was because she missed them. Nick was her best friend and PJ was the man she loved. She had certainly felt a lot lonelier since they'd gone, despite the fact that she had more company than she could ever wish for.

"I have to find that brief," she reminded him.

Mark stepped over to PJ's desk and rifled through his mess for a few seconds, before producing a manila folder. The look on Amy's face was one of astonishment. "You just needed to calm down," he explained with a shrug. "Panicking doesn't help anything."

Amy sighed as she massaged her eyes with the balls of her palms. "I'm turning into a bridezilla, aren't I?"

He smiled. "Not as much as some. In fact, by contrast, you're still rather rational and calm."

"Thanks…I think," she laughed. It was a tired laugh. She knew Mark had picked up on it. The concern on his face grew. "I'll feel better when PJ gets back. At least then someone else can help organise this wedding thing."

"So when are PJ and Nick getting back, anyway?" Mark asked, folding his arms against his chest. "I would like to see my Sergeant again at some point."

She smiled. "Sometime today, I think," she replied. "Hopefully sooner rather than later."

Mark nodded. It was at that time that he heard the buzzer sound in the reception area. He turned, craning his neck to try to see the monitor from the CI office. All he could be sure of was that it was a woman. He looked back to Amy, who had opened the file and was sorting through the sheets of paper. "You go answer it," she told him with a wave of her hand. "I'll be right now, Boss. You can't keep the customers waiting."

He slipped out of the CI office with a nod and entered the reception area. It was Zoe Hamilton standing on the other side of the desk, looking somewhat torn and concerned. Mark closed the door behind him as he approached her. "What can we do for you, Zoe?"

She offered him a forced half-smile before the concern took over once more. "I don't know if I should be worried…"

Mark's eyes narrowed. "But…"

"I'm worried about PJ and Nick," she answered simply. At Mark's confused stare, she continued. "Nick promised to call me every night, make sure that the wedding was on track, you know. Well, I didn't hear from him last night and he's not answering his phone."

He shrugged. "Maybe they're in an area with no reception," he suggested. "We've had problems with that before…"

Zoe shook her head. "Nick said they were only using the one campsite. They get reception there; Nick and I have been camping there before." She sighed, shaking her head dismally. "I might be overreacting, but I can't help but worry…"

Mark sighed, hanging his head momentarily as he contemplated what to do. Finally, he nodded and met Zoe's gaze. "We'll check it out," he reassured her. "They're probably fine, but we'll get out there, make sure everything's okay. You ought to get to work. We'll let you know if anything happens."

She nodded as she slipped out, apparently hesitant to leave it to the police. But finally she left, combing dark curls from her face. Once she was gone, Mark felt his stomach begin to tie itself into knots. There was every chance that PJ and Nick were unharmed, but Nick's silence wasn't reassuring.

He certainly wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to Amy.

* * *

The hike up the campsite wasn't a pleasant one for Ringo. He was acutely aware of how badly his last foray into the National Park had gone and wasn't keen on repeating the experience. Dash also seemed uncomfortable, although he suspected that it was more concern than anything else. With the exception of Chris and Adam, PJ and Nick were her oldest friends.

It took a while for them to reach the campsite, although once they'd reached it, it wasn't hard to understand why Nick had taken PJ there. It was on the top of a hill, surrounded by trees and with a view to envy. There was a feeling of tranquillity which struck the pair almost as soon as they'd reached it.

"PJ and the Sarge have certainly been here," Ringo observed, finally breaking the silence. The campsite was definitely well-established, with a tent standing barely a metre from where they stood.

Dash pulled open the zipper, peering inside. "They've left their bags here," she added, closing it again as she stepped back. She then crouched down beside what had obviously been the campfire. "It hasn't been lit in a couple of days," she mumbled. She looked up to Ringo, who was watching her with worried eyes. "They haven't been here since yesterday morning, at least."

Ringo nodded slowly as Dash climbed to her feet. "I'll let the Boss know," he told her as he pulled his radio from his belt. "We'd better get Amy out here."

* * *

Amy had almost run the entire way to the campsite, despite Dash's desperate pleas for her to take it easy. She'd been waiting at the entrance to the National Park when she'd arrived and had been given the task of showing her to PJ and Nick's abandoned site. She'd tried to calm her down, reassuring her that PJ and Nick would be fine, but Amy wasn't listening. Somehow, Dash could understand why.

Ringo was waiting for them when they arrived, nursing something in his arms. It took only a few seconds for Amy to recognise it. "That's PJ's," she pointed out, snatching it from Ringo's hands. It was PJ's black leather jacket – a little dirty and in need of a good wash, but it was his jacket.

"I know," Ringo replied, his voice strangely quiet. Something about Amy's agonised expression made him feel uneasy.

Amy held it closer to her, amazed at how strong PJ's scent was. It was a few seconds before she could speak. "He wouldn't leave this."

Dash shrugged. "He probably took another jacket," she pointed out. "Maybe something more comfortable…"

"This is the most comfortable piece of clothing he owns," Amy insisted, glaring at Dash from the corners of her eyes. "He loves this jacket. If he took it with him, then he didn't intend on leaving it abandoned in the bush for long periods of time."

Hoping to diffuse the tension radiating from Amy, Ringo spoke. "The Boss said to search the surrounding areas," he explained. "They might have just wandered off and found a better spot nearby."

"Without their sleeping bags, clothes, tent…" Amy began, only to stop when she buried her face in PJ's jacket momentarily. His scent seemed to calm her, put her mind back in some semblance of order. When she lowered it, she was nodding. "Okay, we'll search," she told them as she reluctantly set PJ's jacket down. "We'll split up, cover more ground…"

"No!" Ringo interrupted, shaking his head firmly. At the girls' stares, he continued. "It's against the rules to split up. That's the first thing they taught us at the Academy."

Amy looked irritated, but finally nodded, shrugging. "Fine," she grumbled. "We'll do it your way." With that, she stormed past them, heading down the hill in the opposite way to where she'd approached. Ringo and Dash shared an uneasy glance before following her.

The search wasn't a pleasant experience, they soon decided. Amy was becoming increasingly stressed and panicky. It didn't reflect in her face, but in her voice. Her calls of 'PJ' and 'Nick' were becoming higher-pitched and wobbled slightly. She moved too fast through the bush, almost falling several times as her boots lost their footing.

Finally, she stumbled, toppling through a bush and against a tree. Not looking where she was going, she stepped on a rock and her ankle had rolled. For a moment, she felt completely numb. The only thing she was really aware of was the shaky, uneasy sound of her breathing and the cool breeze which was hitting the sweat on her face. But, just moments later, everything struck her with powerful force.

Pain shot through her ankle, bringing tears to her eyes. She could only assume that the stress had some role to play in how quickly she had succumbed to what was only a minor injury, especially by comparison to what she had been through in the past.

Dash was beside her before she knew it, gently keeping her on her feet. She could hear Dash's voice. "Are you okay?"

She tried to reply, but found that her throat felt closed. Instead she nodded. It was only several seconds later that she was able to speak. "I'm fine. I'm just…worried. Worried that I'm about to lose the two people who mean the most to me."

Dash nodded in understanding. Slipping Amy's arm around her shoulder, she helped her back onto the track where Ringo was waiting, radio in hand. "Should I radio the Boss, get an ambulance on standby?" he asked.

She smiled a little at Ringo's suggestion. "It's not that serious," she explained as she lowered Amy to the ground. She slipped the boot off Amy's foot and prodded her ankle for a minute or so. Finally, she offered her a reassuring smile. "It doesn't look sprained," she told her. "But maybe we should get you back to the station. Having you out here might not be the best idea."

Amy looked at her pointedly. "I told you I'm fine," she reminded her, shooting Ringo a fleeting glance. "I just need to find them."

Nodding, Dash went to help her back to her feet, only to find that Amy was more than fine to do it herself. "Just take it easy," Dash told her.

Amy seemed to heed her advice from then on. She kept close to Ringo and Dash and appeared to look where she was going. But now her panic was not just confined to her voice. It was clear on her face, in her eyes, even in the way she moved her hands. It seemed to infiltrate every part of her.

It was barely an hour later when Mark's voice came over Ringo's portable. "Mt. Thomas 900 to Mt. Thomas Portable."

Ringo grabbed the radio and held it to his mouth. The group stopped, although Amy appeared keen to continue searching. "Mt. Thomas Portable receiving, go ahead Boss."

"I think we're going to have to hold off until tomorrow," Mark explained. "It's getting too late. Come back to the station."

Alarm spread through Amy's face as Ringo replied. "Yes, Boss. Mt. Thomas Portable out."

Amy leapt for the portable, only for Ringo to step back so it was out of arm's reach. "We can't stop!" she snapped. "PJ and Nick are still out there, they've already spent a night away from camp and we have no way of knowing if either of them is hurt."

Dash look at her pointedly. "It's going to be dark in an hour and I don't particularly fancy finding our way back to the cars in the dark, let alone finding PJ and Nick."

"But you grew up in this town!" Amy continued, her voice now pleading as opposed to angry. "You know every part of Mt. Thomas inside out!"

Ringo cleared his throat a little, once again earning puzzled stares from Amy and Dash. "Dash does know this town well," he explained. "But last time we tried searching for anything in the National Park in the dark, I fell off a cliff. We don't need a repeat."

Amy looked close to tears as she finally nodded, burying her face in her hands. She had nothing left to argue with. She was worried, but even she had to admit that she would have no luck in finding them in the dark. "Fine," she mumbled as she turned on her heel and headed back to the campsite. Dash and Ringo followed her, both reduced to silence. Neither of them seemed to know what to say, so instead remained quiet.

When they reached the campsite on their way back to the car, Amy paused by PJ's leather jacket. It was still sitting where she left it. With Ringo and Dash watching her with concern shining in their eyes, she scooped the jacket in her arms and held it to her chest. Once again, PJ's scent worked its magic.

* * *

When Amy returned home, she found herself disheartened at the silence and the darkness. Night had well and truly fallen and she knew that continuing the search would have been dangerous, but she didn't know if she could face being alone. It wasn't like the previous few nights, where she was on her own but certain that PJ and Nick were off enjoying themselves. This was close to torture for her.

Not sure of where else to put it, she placed PJ's jacket on the kitchen bench and headed for the living room. She turned on the television and surfed through the channels, desperately trying to find something that would serve as comforting background noise. There was nothing there that wouldn't depress her more.

Giving up, she scanned the CD shelves instead. After a few minutes of searching, she placed an album from The Whitlams into the CD player and turned up the volume. She could heard the music echoing through the house as she headed back to the kitchen and, with a forlorn stare at PJ's jacket, she began to pour herself a glass of wine. Despite her vows not to drink heavily again, she was praying that the alcohol would help her make it through the night.

It didn't take long for her to realise that her music selection wasn't the most cheery. The music was depressing and made her feel worse. Raising the glass to her lips, she heard the chorus come through from the living room.

_She laughs too easily  
__And cries too hard  
__Shouldn't drink alone_

She could hear some truth in those lyrics and, feeling something inside her snap, she poured her glass of wine down the sink. She shouldn't be alone, at least not inside this house. She couldn't be here, not now.

She stormed into their bedroom and grabbed an old black overnight bag. She stuffed some clothes into it and, remembering that day's incident, added a pair of joggers which were more likely to keep her upright.

As she headed for the door, she detoured by the kitchen. She sat her bag down on the bench as she once more picked up PJ's jacket. Closing her eyes as she took in his scent, she pulled it on. It didn't fit her half as well as it fit PJ. The arms were too long, almost reaching her fingertips, and it was simply too big for her, but she felt more comfortable in it. She could see why PJ loved it so much. Although it was old and worn, it was very warm.

Grabbing her bag once more, she turned off the CD player and left the house. She couldn't be in that house and there was only one place she could imagine spending this night in.

* * *

The bar was still relatively packed when Amy slipped into the Imperial Hotel, her grip on her overnight bag tightening a little as she caught sight of her colleagues and wedding guests. The mood at their table was sombre with concern, but she still couldn't fathom joining them. She didn't want to be in that house alone, but she also didn't want to be smothered with people.

It only took Chris a few seconds to notice her. Before Amy could realise what was going on, she was on her side of the bar, rubbing her arm supportively. Somehow, Chris didn't seem surprised that she was wearing PJ's clothes.

"They told me what happened," she explained. "Are you okay?"

Amy went to nod, only to find that she couldn't. She shook her head instead. "I can't stay at home, Chris. I can't be in that house."

Chris nodded in understanding. She disappeared for a moment, returning with a key in hand. "Room seven," she told her as she placed it into Amy's spare hand and closed it around the key.

Amy gave a mumble of thanks and disappeared upstairs. As she entered room seven, she was struck by the realisation that it was the same room she'd stayed in when she'd come back to Mt. Thomas to investigate Tom Croydon's murder. It seemed to make her heartache even worse.

She dumped her bag down on the bed and flopped down beside it, staring at the ceiling as she lay on her back. It took a moment for everything to hit her and she found herself crying. No amount of trying seemed to stop her tears. She shifted position on the bed so that her face was now buried in the pillow. She found that she was very grateful for the jacket. It had the reassuring effect that PJ had on her.

_You are not alone tonight  
__Imagine me there by your side_

A soft knock sounded at the door, making Amy jump a little in surprise. She raised her head from the pillow, staring at the door in bewilderment until she heard a familiar voice come from the other side. "Amy? It's Chris. Can I come in?"

She contemplated sending Chris away, but changed her mind. If she sent Chris back downstairs, chances were that she would have a steady stream of colleagues past and present, friends and wedding guests coming up to speak to her until she let one of them in. Chris seemed like the easier option.

"The door's not locked," she called back, pulling her up to sitting as Chris invited herself in.

Chris fixed her with a soft and worried gaze. It was sympathetic and seemed to channel Chris' own pain. That didn't surprise Amy. PJ and Nick were her oldest friends. "You know, that jacket almost looks better on you," Chris told her with a forced chuckle.

Amy shrugged as she gave a teary laugh. It seemed a little too uncontrolled, a little too close to hysteria. "It makes me feel a little better," she explained. She sighed as she pulled her knees up to her body and buried her face in them. "I'm overreacting. They're probably fine."

"No one can blame you for being worried," Chris pointed out as she sat down beside her and reached over to rub her arm soothingly. "You're supposed to be heading off on your honeymoon in forty-eight hours. You're supposed to be enjoying your last couple of days as an unmarried woman. This isn't right."

"I can't even think about any of that right now," Amy grumbled, looking to Chris with tear-stained cheeks. "Everyone keeps reassuring me – I keep trying to reassure myself – but I can't help but wonder. I'm a cop…I'm a detective. It's in my nature to find answers, to find out why. I can't help but worry that maybe the reason Nick didn't call Zoe is because he and PJ are hurt. Maybe they're dead."

Chris shook her head as she squeezed Amy's arm supportively. "You can't think that," she reminded her. "You can't let yourself assume the worst."

"Why not?" Amy demanded, her voice once again coming close to hysterics. "They haven't been up to their campsite since yesterday morning. That means they might not have eaten, they might not have any water. By the looks of it, they don't have blankets or jackets and it's going to be bloody cold tonight. They haven't gone back to the campsite, which suggests that they can't which indicates that they might be injured or dead."

Chris sighed as she pulled Amy against her chest. She ran her fingers through Amy's dark hair. It was usually so tidy and neat, even with a hangover, but it was matted and messy. "Try not to think that way," she told her gently. "Try to stay positive. For PJ and Nick."

Amy nodded slowly as she contemplated Chris' words. But, soon the tears took hold once more. "PJ was right," she sobbed as she tried to pull herself free of Chris' arms. But Chris' grip was too firm and she was soon forced to give up once again. "He was worried about something happening to me before the wedding. That's probably why he and Nick decided to go out into the middle of nowhere. PJ's already lost two fiancées after proposing to them, he's been a little paranoid about the something bad happening to me. It's like he thinks it's a curse."

"That'd be right," Chris mumbled. "The man who doesn't believe in God or magic believes in a curse."

"I thought he was just being paranoid," Amy continued, trying to use the palms of her hands to wipe away her tears. "But he was right. Something bad is happening to me. About the worst thing that could happen to me. I might be about to lose the two people who mean the most to me."

As she began to sob in earnest, Chris tightened her hold on Amy and stroked her hair soothingly. It didn't seem to have much effect, but Chris wasn't sure that there was anything else she could do. Amy needed PJ and Nick and she had to admit that there was a pretty good chance that they might not be coming home.

* * *

When Amy awoke, it was barely daybreak. Her mind was a blur, brought on by her tears the night before. She had finally cried herself to exhaustion and fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber. She was grateful for that. She didn't think she could have coped with any sort of dream last night – especially if it had involved PJ.

She tried to move to climb out of bed, only to find that something was lying across her. It took her only a few seconds to realise that it was Chris. She had fallen asleep in Chris' arms and she supposed that the publican must have stayed with her. A grateful smile spread across Amy's face as she gently brushed a small red ringlet out of Chris' face. "Thank you," she whispered as she carefully extracted herself from Chris' arms.

She grabbed the bag she had brought with her and headed to the bathroom, grateful to find it empty. She locked herself in until she had had a hot shower which seemed to help clear her head. She pulled on the clothes she had brought – an old white shirt, black pants and the pair of joggers. As an afterthought, she pulled PJ's jacket on once again before returning her bag to the room where Chris still dozed and heading downstairs.

Everyone else was up when she got to the public bar. A map of the National Park was lying unfolded on the table and they were examining it, speaking in hushed voices. Jonesy was the first to notice her arrival. "Morning," he called, his mouth full of toast.

She nodded in reply as the others turned to offer their greetings. Pat climbed up and headed to the kitchen, motioning for her to take his now vacant seat. As she sat down, Jonesy squeezed her hand encouragingly.

"How did you sleep?" Ben asked.

"Okay," she answered with a shrug. She didn't really know what other answer she had to offer. She gestured towards the map. "What's this about?"

Ringo looked up from where he had been showing Tess something. "We're just discussing the best way to search the park," he explained. "Now we've got some more helpers."

Amy raised an eyebrow. "We have backup from St. Davids?"

"Not exactly," Ringo replied. "They think we're overreacting. Whoever the Acting Inspector is that the Boss spoke to won't authorise it."

"Who are the extra helpers then?" Amy demanded. At that moment, she caught sight of Jonesy's grin out of the corner of her eye. She turned to him, before looking over to Tess and Ben. "You guys?"

Tess shrugged. "Why not?" she asked. "Evan and I are police officers, we've done this before and Ben has police experience and local knowledge."

Amy paused before speaking again. "Is Pat coming as well?"

"No," Pat replied as he suddenly reappeared from the kitchen, a plate of food and a cup of coffee in his hands. He placed them down in front of Amy. He had certainly been busy in the kitchen. The plate had just about every breakfast food Amy could think of – bacon, eggs, sausages and toast. Aware that Amy was watching him as he dragged another chair over, Pat continued. "I'm going to stay back here, baby-sit little Evan Gallagher. I'll give Chris a hand with some of the wedding stuff as well."

Amy shook her head. "Don't bother," she mumbled. At the surprised stares of her colleagues, she elaborated. "We don't even know if PJ and Nick are alive. You can't have a wedding without the groom or the best man."

During their conversation, no one had noticed the phone ringing. At least not until Chris came running down the stairs, calling out to them. "You ever heard of answering a telephone?" she asked. A few minutes later, they heard Chris' voice echoing out from her office. "No, we cannot have a cake saying 'Congratulations Janet and George' when their names are Amy and PJ! Oh, for God's sake, how do you think 'PJ' is spelt?!" With that, she slammed down the phone and let out a cry of frustration.

The group clustered around the table shared a wary glance, before finally Ringo straightened himself up. "I'll go talk to her," he offered and slipped into Chris' office.

She was sitting at the desk, running a hand back through her untidy curls. She smiled a little at Ringo's entrance. "Bloody caterers," she laughed. "Someone managed to get the wrong names on the cake." She sighed as she shook her head. "This wedding is seriously turning into a disaster."

Ringo nodded slowly. Recognising the concern on Chris' face, he reached over to squeeze her shoulder. "We'll find them, Chris. I promise we will. With Tess, Ben and Jonesy helping, we can cover more ground."

Chris fixed him with a saddened expression. "Yeah, I know you'll find them. My only question is whether or not that'll be dead or alive."

* * *

Mark and Dash were already at the station when they arrived. They had a map spread out on Nick's desk in the muster room. They had highlighted sections of it, with names scribbled out over the various areas of the map. They didn't seemed surprised when Tess, Jonesy and Ben entered the station with Amy and Ringo, so Amy guessed that they'd already been told.

"We've got the plan basically worked out," Mark explained. "I've managed to get PolAir to do a few sweeps of the park and if we can narrow the area down at all, they'll be willing to provide more assistance."

"The SES and ambos are on standby as well," Dash continued.

Amy slipped past them to get a look at the map. Mark and Dash had split them into pairs, with Mark apparently staying back to coordinate. The different search areas seemed to spread outwards from the campsite. She was surprised at how organised everyone seemed to be.

Mark moved over to the map and the others formed a circle around it. He motioned to an area spreading north from the site. "Dash and Ben will take this area here," he explained. His hand moved to the left as he continued. "Ringo and Tess will search here and Amy and Evan will search to the south." He patted the map in the area where he had scribbled 'Amy' and 'Evan'.

Dash handed a portable to Amy before tossing one to Ringo. He fumbled it for a moment as she spoke. "We'll have regular radio contact," she explained, before looking to Jonesy, Tess and Ben. "You guys can use your mobiles."

Ben nodded as he followed Dash out to the car park, followed closely by Ringo and Tess. Jonesy went to leave – Amy in tow – when Mark suddenly spoke. "Amy?"

Amy gestured for Jonesy to go on ahead as she headed back to where Mark was standing, one hand still resting on the map. She stared at him in confusion. "What did you want, Boss?" she asked with a shake of her head.

He looked at her with concern. "If you don't feel you're up to this, you don't have to do this. I can go out with Evan instead, you can coordinate the search."

She forced a smile. "Thanks for the concern, but I don't need it."

"Dash told me about what happened yesterday," he continued, as though he hadn't heard her. "You might be better off here."

Realisation suddenly struck her and her mouth dropped open in horror. She could read it in Mark's eyes, the true reason why he didn't want her out there. "You think they might be dead, don't you?"

Mark sighed as he met Amy's horrified gaze. "It's a possibility," he admitted reluctantly. "And…we should be staying positive, but it's a distinct possibility."

Amy nodded in understanding as her horror softened. She couldn't blame Mark – he was only voicing what they were all thinking. She knew that none of them really wanted her out there, just in case she was the one who ended up finding the bodies of her fiancé and friend. At least he could admit it.

"I want to be out there, Boss," she finally told him. "No matter what we end up finding. Even if PJ and Nick are dead, I owe them this much." She found that her voice was already beginning to catch in her throat. Contemplating PJ and Nick being reduced to lifeless bodies was making her feel sick.

Mark nodded. "Just…be careful. You won't be doing anyone any favours by getting yourself injured out there."

She offered him a half-hearted reassuring smile. "I'll be careful," she replied. "I'll be no use to either of them if I end up breaking a leg."

* * *

When she reached the car park, Jonesy was waiting at the CI car, leaning back against it with his arms folded. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be daydreaming. There was a half-smile on his face that told Amy that he was remembering simpler times.

Her arrival seemed to stir him back to earth and he looked at her pointedly. "What did Mark want?"

"Just checking that I'm going to be okay out there," she replied. "I don't blame him. To be honest, I don't even want to think about how I'd react if I found their bodies…"

Recognising the tears in her eyes, Jonesy reached out to rub her arm. His touch brought a smile to her face. It reminded her of well over a year ago, when she and PJ had found themselves caught up in a web of Sydney corruption after the disastrous CI conference. She'd realised then that Jonesy would have made a good friend and this was confirming that.

"They probably aren't dead," Jonesy pointed out. "I reckon you can feel it when someone you love dies."

Amy looked to him in bewilderment as they climbed into the car. "What do you mean?"

He placed a hand upon his chest. "You can feel it," he elaborated. "Deep inside. It's because people you love work their way so far into your heart that you're connected. I reckon you'd feel it if PJ was dead. I reckon you'd know."

She thought through Jonesy's words carefully. He was right, she decided. She and PJ were so in tune with one another that she probably would feel it if he died. Jonesy's words were the best bit of hope she'd had since Mark had told her that PJ and Nick were missing. She had to cling to it.

* * *

She knew Jonesy was watching her as they moved through the National Park. Every now and again, he'd attempt to make some conversation with her. It seemed to canvas every topic imaginable – little Evan, Tess, work, friends…about the only thing Jonesy wouldn't go near was the wedding. Amy was thankful for that. She didn't know if she could handle that.

They were taking the track slowly, trying to make sure that they didn't miss something. Amy was sure that PJ and Nick would have stuck to the tracks, but she didn't want to walk past them without even seeing them.

Their calls for PJ and Nick were interrupted when Mark's voice came over Amy's portable. "Mt. Thomas 900 to all Mt. Thomas Portables."

She grabbed the radio from her belt and waited for Dash and Ringo to sign on before joining them. "Mt. Thomas 509 Portable receiving." She shared a wary glance with Jonesy as she waited for Mark to speak.

"PolAir just reported back," Mark explained. "No sign of PJ and Nick, but they did see a collapsed mine shaft while they were flying over. It's in your area, Amy."

Amy frowned distractedly as she looked up to Jonesy. "Where abouts are the mines?" she asked him.

Jonesy looked around for a moment to get his bearings, before pointing off through some bush off the track. "Through there, I think," he replied, looking back to her thoughtful face. "Why?"

She shook off his question as she held the radio to her mouth. "You think PJ and Nick might be there?"

"Not sure," Mark answered. When he spoke next, his voice seemed to be a little concerned. "They're old mines; it could have collapsed of its own accord. I'm just letting you know so no one gets themselves injured trying to search there…"

Amy wasn't listening to what Mark said next. She was already shoving tree branches aside as she headed down towards where Jonesy had pointed. He followed her, calling out her name. "Amy!" he called. "What do you think you're doing?"

She stopped and turned back to him. "I've got a gut feeling," she replied.

Jonesy made a face. "Those mines are pretty dangerous," he pointed out. "You're going to get yourself killed if you're not careful."

She stared at him pointedly. "You're a detective, Jonesy," she reminded him. "You know as well as I do that half our job is gut feelings. And you also know that when you love someone, you can feel them. Maybe my gut feeling is telling me that PJ and Nick are there. Maybe I can feel them there. You're just going to have to trust me."

For a moment, it looked like Jonesy wasn't going to trust her. His face was torn. But, finally, he nodded and followed her through. "Okay, okay," he told her. "We'll look. It can't hurt if we're careful, I suppose…"

Jonesy's concern brought a hint of a smile to Amy's face. "Whatever happened to Evan "Cowboy" Jones?"

Something twinkled in his eyes. "He worked out what really mattered."

Amy nodded thoughtfully in response, effectively ending the conversation.

The rest of the walk to the mines was silent, mainly because Jonesy was attempting to remember how to get there. A couple of times, he'd tried to convince her to tell Mark what they were doing, but she decided against it. Mark was only going to worry, then probably send Tess and Ringo over to stop them. And she knew that if Tess told Jonesy no, he'd probably obey.

It was hard to miss the mines. Especially the one that had caved in. The entrance was marked by large supports which formed a strange triangle shape in the sky. There had once been a large square area of wooden planks which had apparently given way. Some of the ground around it had gone as well, forming a pit of dirt, rocks and broken wood.

Amy's mouth dropped open as she approached it, ignoring Jonesy's cries for her to stay back. She couldn't speak. All she could really process was the pounding of her heart which was telling her that PJ and Nick were here.

Finally realising that Amy wasn't going to listen to him, Jonesy joined her at the edge of the pit. He looked down and made a face. "These mines were never really big," he mumbled, earning Amy's attention. She looked at him, waiting for some kind of explanation. "Chris told me about them once. Apparently they were set up during the gold rush days, but when they found nothing they just abandoned them. I'm surprised that they haven't collapsed sooner."

She nodded as she turned her gaze back to the pit. She knew PJ and Nick were down there. She just had to work out how to prove it.

* * *

The darkness was beginning to play on PJ's mind. As were the clouds of dirt that seemed to be permanently swirling through the air. It made breathing more difficult than it really should be, although he couldn't be quite sure if the decreasing oxygen levels weren't responsible for that.

The only sound he could hear was Nick's laboured breathing. He was in pain. He'd been in pain ever since the mine had collapsed. Nick said it was a dislocated shoulder and PJ was inclined to believe him. After all, being married to a doctor had to teach Nick something.

Without warning, Nick switched on the torch. It wasn't very bright – they'd used up most of the battery within the first few hours when they thought rescue wouldn't be far off. Once they'd realised that they weren't about to be saved, they'd started conserving the battery. "PJ," he groaned.

Not bothering to move from where he sat against the rocky mine wall, PJ turned his head towards Nick. By the weak torch light, he could see Nick's face was a contortion of agony. PJ narrowed his eyes to make them focus better. "Mate?" he asked in a croaky voice. That was another effect of the dirt clouds – without water, his throat had quickly become as dry as a desert.

"I want you to fix this bloody shoulder," Nick grumbled, grabbing his right arm a little tighter with his uninjured left one.

PJ shook his head. "We've been over this, Nick," he reminded him. "I'm not trained. I'll do more harm than good. Help can't be too far off…"

"You said that forty-eight hours ago and we're still stuck in the bloody hole."

PJ sighed as he met Nick's piercing blue eyes. "I can't do it."

Nick groaned as he shifted his position against the wall, hoping to find something that would make his shoulder more comfortable. It didn't work. If anything, it only made things worse. "If you don't put it back into place, I'll bloody do it myself."

PJ considered Nick's words. The pain was getting too much for him. He didn't doubt for a second that Nick would go through with it if he had to. He finally sighed. "Okay, okay," he mumbled as he crawled over to where Nick was sitting. He adjusted the torch so that he had as much light on Nick's shoulder as possible. He prodded the shoulder for a bit, before drawing in a deep breath. "This is going to hurt…" he warned him.

"Just do it already," Nick grumbled, gritting his teeth. He knew that, however bad the shoulder was now; it was going to feel much, much worse while PJ was putting it back into place.

And as PJ did his best, Nick let a loud howl of agony echo through the mine.

* * *

A few minutes later, it was over. The shoulder still pained Nick, but it was only a shadow of what he had been suffering through before. PJ had used his shirt as a makeshift sling and was now sitting back against his wall, his chest only covered by a white singlet. Nick had worried about him getting cold, but PJ couldn't understand why. If anything, it was far too hot in the mine shaft. It certainly didn't reflect the cold up above.

Nick's breathing was still shaky. As PJ turned to him – for all the good it did with the torch once more turned off – he realised how unpleasant putting the shoulder back must have been for him. "You alright?" he asked.

"Better than I was," Nick grumbled back in response. "Don't think I'm going to forget that experience in a hurry."

PJ chuckled in spite of himself. "Told you it was going to hurt."

"Yeah, well, I can see why you didn't become a doctor," Nick replied. "You did that to a patient and you would have had the pants sued off of you."

PJ smiled. "I think I did alright for someone who only has first aid level training," he pointed out. "Though I suppose we're going to have to wait for Zo's verdict on that…or at least Adzo's."

Nick chuckled at that. "Who would have thought it, eh?" he asked nostalgically. "Constable Adam Cooper, now a nurse. God, Wayne would have thought that was hilarious."

"Forget Adam," PJ replied with an uneasy laugh. "Wayne would have thought we were a right joke. PJ the commitment-phobe getting married tomorrow and Nick married to Doc Zo Hamilton with identical twin sons…"

Nick nodded as he let his head fall back against the rock wall. "Sometimes, I like to remember what it used to be like," he explained. "The way we used to be. The way it was like when we were thirty-somethings with the world at our feet."

PJ looked over to him with memories shining in his eyes. "It's a different world now, Nick," he pointed out.

"I know," he replied thoughtfully. "I like this new world though. I don't think I'd go back and change a thing, even if I could."

PJ nodded. "You're not the only one," he agreed. "It's funny…all the bad times, all those things I once wanted to go back and change…I don't want to do that anymore. The past made me who I am and I guess I'm kind of grateful for it. For all of it."

_If I could go back in time  
__Well, I wouldn't change a thing_

Nick sighed as he looked over to PJ. "Things are really going your way for once," he observed. As an afterthought, he added, "Well, except being stuck in the bloody hole."

A smile spread across PJ's face. "Yeah," he told him with a nod. "I guess they are." Something about the tone of his voice told Nick that he was surprised at that.

It was a few minutes before Nick could bring himself to speak again. "I know about Amy's Asherman's syndrome coming back."

PJ looked to him in shock. "How?" he demanded.

"I guessed something was up with Amy," he explained. "I forced it out of Zoe."

"So much for patient confidentiality," PJ scoffed.

After a few second's silence, Nick spoke again. "So how are you guys coping with the infertility?"

The smile slowly returned to PJ's face. "She's amazing, Nick," he replied. "She never really wanted children. I can't blame her. After everything she went through, it's easy to understand why motherhood was never on her list of priorities. But, I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like for her to hear that. She would have only been a kid herself, being told that she couldn't have kids."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, Amy told me." As he spoke, he found himself remembering the night PJ had been shot – the night Amy had first confided in him – as well as the day he'd found the ultrasound photos in the mess room.

"What breaks my heart is the fact that she thought she couldn't tell me," PJ continued. "She thought that I was so set on having kids that I wouldn't want to be with her anymore if I thought she couldn't have any and didn't really want any. I wish I'd known before she told me after the miscarriage. I could have set her mind at ease." He paused, staring off into space as little tears pricked up in the corners of his eyes. "Because, truth is, I don't want kids anymore, either. That never meant as much to me as I thought it did."

Nick offered him a sympathetic smile. "You love her more than anything else," he told him. "Nothing else matters."

PJ nodded. He knew Nick understood. His love for Zoe was every bit as strong as PJ's for Amy. "After Amy ran off to Homicide," he began, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "I realised that I couldn't keep going the way I was. I wasn't just hurting anymore – I was hurting other people. I'd already ruined Jo's life and I couldn't let myself do that to anyone else…let alone Amy." He sighed reflectively. "I started seeing this psychologist…Bill Lapscott. We'd met him while investigating a series of killings – the Steven Prior murders. He specialised in sexual abuse cases and didn't think he was up to the task of handling me. He tried recommending other psychologists, but I didn't want to see them. If I was going to work through what was going on in my head, I was going to have to explain how I felt for Amy and I wasn't going to have to tell Bill about the abuse – he already knew. I couldn't tell anyone else. It's not my story to tell and never has been."

"I can see he helped you a lot," Nick mumbled as he grabbed at his shoulder. The pain came in waves and he was about to be consumed by it again.

PJ nodded once more as a smile crossed his face. "He did," he agreed. "I could see that all I wanted was what was best for Amy – whether that was me or not. It was because I loved her more than anything else in the world." He found himself chuckling a little. "It's funny, actually. For most of my life, I thought the only appropriate response to 'I love you' was 'oh crap', but now…all I want to do is say it to Amy. I want it all with her…love, pain and the whole damn thing." Pain crept into his eyes as his smile faded. He was remembering just where they were and just how bad the situation was. They were trapped four metres underground in a hole that could very easily cave in and kill them both. "I don't want to die, Nick," he whispered, looking over to where he knew Nick was sitting. "Not now. Not when I've finally gotten everything I've ever wanted."

Nick nodded in agreement as he cast his gaze upwards. He couldn't see the ceiling in the darkness, but he could picture it in his mind. He tried to shake the image away and tried to bring three very familiar faces into his mind – Zoe and their sons. He needed them, just as PJ needed Amy. "Me neither," he mumbled as he closed his eyes, hoping to keep the image of his family strong in his mind.

* * *

"Evan! Evan!"

Amy and Jonesy could hear Tess coming before they saw her. She stormed into view, Ringo jogging along behind her, the equipment in his bag clanking noisily as he moved. Almost as soon as Tess had appeared, she grabbed Jonesy's hands, pulling him as far away from the mine as she could manage – which, given her slender frame, wasn't very far.

"What on earth did you think you were doing?" she demanded. "Mark tells us that the mines were dangerous and what is the first thing you do? You go there!"

Jonesy's face began to turn a bright red. The sight was enough to make Amy glad that she hadn't let Jonesy radio for help. He never would have come with her if Tess had gotten involved. She couldn't blame Tess for being concerned. She knew it was because Tess loved him.

Ben and Dash seemed to choose that moment to emerge from the bush, both out of breath. It appeared they'd run the whole way to the mines from where they had been searching in the opposite direction. "Do we have any word on how long the SES is going to be?" Ben asked as he leant against a tree to catch his breath.

Breaking free from Tess' grip and kissing her forehead tenderly, Jonesy replied. "Could be anywhere up to half an hour. Mark told us to sit tight until then."

"Are you sure it's them?" Dash queried as she approached the mine shaft. She looked down, cringing a little at the sight. It was obvious that she had already worked out how hard this was going to be.

Amy nodded firmly. "I heard Nick cry out," she explained. "It sounded like he was in pain. It was faint – we can't hear much from up here." She frowned as she joined Dash at the mine's edge. "If we could get down there…" A plan seemed to form in her mind as she turned to Ringo. "You've got some rope in that bag, don't you?"

Ringo looked a little taken aback by the question. His hands tightened around the straps of the backpack. "Yes…" he replied hesitantly. He seemed to realise what Amy was planning. "But the Boss said…"

"I don't care what the Boss said," Amy pointed out, staring at him pleadingly. When Ringo didn't react, she gestured towards the mine shaft. "If you guys don't want to help me, then I'll climb down there myself."

Jonesy stepped forward and grabbed Amy's wrist gently. He met her gaze for just a second, before finally nodding. He looked back to Ringo. "Get the rope," he told him.

Tess shook her head. "Evan," she warned him. "This is too dangerous. That mine's already collapsed once; it's at risk of doing it again. If it caves in and Amy is down there…"

Ben cleared his throat, earning curious stares from the others. "If we tie the rope to a tree, she should be fine to get down there. And if it even looks like caving in again, we'll pull her out of there." At Tess' worried stare, Ben lowered his voice to continue. "She'll do it regardless, Tess. We might as well help her so she doesn't kill herself trying."

Tess finally nodded as she turned to watch Dash, Jonesy, Ringo and Amy where they stood near a tree. Dash had tied one end of the rope around the trunk and Jonesy was pulling on it, testing the strength of the knot. It appeared to be holding.

Jonesy followed Amy as she brought the other end of the rope back to the mine shaft. She lowered it down until the end hovered half a metre above the debris below. "Take it easy," Jonesy warned her as she began to descend. He rested a hand on the rope, apparently hoping to try to rescue her should something go wrong.

She made it down the rope without any difficulties. Once her feet had hit the ground, she took a moment to survey the shaft. Judging by the debris, something – possibly PJ and Nick's weight – had caused the wooden planks to give way, which had been followed by a partial collapse of the mine. Something panged in her heart as she contemplated what PJ and Nick must have been faced with – either crawl further into the mine and be trapped or stay where they were and possibly be buried alive.

A wall of rock separated her from the mine itself. Amy approached it with apprehension. She placed her hands gently upon the rocks as she called out. "PJ? Nick?" She waited with baited breath for a reply. "It's Amy."

Inside the mine, PJ nearly jumped at the sound. It was muffled by the rock, but it was unmistakably Amy. He glanced over to where Nick was. His breathing was still shaky and uneven and he got the feeling that his old friend was unconscious. He crawled towards the rock wall as he replied. "Amy!"

A gasp escaped Amy's lips as tears of relief threatened to overwhelm her. It took her a moment to compose her. "It's okay, Peej, I promise. The SES will be here soon and they'll get you out. You and Nick just have to keep holding on."

"Nick needs medical attention," PJ called back, his voice sounding strained. Truth was that he didn't have the strength left in him to raise his voice much louder. "He's got a dislocated shoulder and he's unconscious. We're running out of air in here." Amy felt her heart begin to beat harder in her chest. She was relieved that PJ was fine – at least for the moment – but she didn't want Nick to be hurt. She hadn't managed to compose herself to reply when PJ spoke again. "I love you, Amy. I love you. I need you to know that…"

Amy shook her head, trying to ignore the meaning behind PJ's words. He was scared he was going to die in there. "You're going to get plenty more chances to tell me," she reassured him. "I love you too, so you've got the rest of our lives to repeat it."

It seemed at that moment that a low rumbling sound began to echo through the mine and the shaft. Amy suddenly became aware of shouts from above. "It's collapsing again!" Jonesy called, gesturing for the others to grab hold of the rope and be ready to pull. "Grab onto the rope, Amy!"

For a moment, she found herself frozen. She couldn't leave PJ there, but she didn't have a choice. As the sound intensified, she called out to him again. "Get back, PJ! Get back!" Jonesy's voice was joined by those of Tess, Ringo, Dash and Ben as she finally headed back to the rope and, still torn, clambered back up while the others helped pull her to safety.

Almost as soon as she had been pulled back up, an almighty crash sounded from within the mine. Hot tears pricked up in her eyes as she let out an agonised cry. "PJ!" She sprung forward, grabbing the rope again as she approached the mine shaft, only for a warm hand to close around her wrist. She looked up to see Jonesy shaking his head slowly.

"It's too dangerous," he told her quietly. "Leave it to the SES."

She went to argue with him, but changed her mind. Jonesy had been willing to support her to this point – he may not be the cowboy he once was, but he was still willing to take a few risks to save lives – but this was his limit.

She nodded slowly as she backed away from the mine shaft, her whole body trembling so much that she was surprised she could walk straight. As she passed him, Ben squeezed her shoulder. "Radio Mark," he urged her. "Tell him what PJ said about how he and Nick are going."

Amy nodded again as she raised her radio to her mouth. "Mt. Thomas 509 Portable to Mt. Thomas 900." She waited for Mark to pick up before speaking again. "There's…there's been another collapse. What's the ETA on the SES?"

Mark sounded worried when he replied. "They're about five minutes away," he explained. "The hospital is on standby as well."

It took Amy nearly a whole minute before she was able to continue. "Boss…I went down the mine shaft…"

"What? Amy…I warned you lot not to go down there…" Mark's voice wasn't chastising, as Amy expected. Instead, his frustration reflected his concern.

"Boss…I spoke to PJ," she continued, ignoring Mark's words. "He said Nick has a dislocated shoulder and is unconscious. He…he said that they are running out of air down there. I think he was near the collapsed area of mine…I told him to get back…"

When Mark interrupted her, his voice was soothing. It perfectly matched Ben's supportive hand on her shoulder. "Just wait for the SES, okay?" he told her softly. "They'll get them out. You've just got to hold on."

She nodded as she signed off. Almost as soon as she had returned the radio to her belt, several men in orange SES uniforms appeared, backpacks of equipment on their backs.

One of them stepped forward, offering her his hand. "I'm Greg Knight," he introduced. He waited for Amy to shake his hand, but when it became apparent that she wasn't interested, he offered it to Jonesy instead. "Senior Sergeant Jacobs said you had a couple of cops down there."

Jonesy nodded as he led Greg and his men over to the edge of the mine shaft. "There's been a second collapse since we got here," he explained. "At least one of the officers is injured. They reckon they're running out of air down there."

One of the SES members pulled a ladder from seemingly nowhere and lowered it down the shaft. Greg climbed down and, several minutes later, emerged. The others watched him eagerly, waiting for some kind of response. "I don't like what I'm seeing down there," he informed them gravely. "That mine is very old. It's been close to collapse for a long time. Once these old babies start to go, they go very quickly."

Amy shook her head in confusion. "So what does that mean?" she asked, a little infuriated by Greg's apparently blasé approach to the collapse.

"It means that the mine is very unstable," Greg explained. "In order to rescue them, we're going to have to remove the rocks. The instability means that this has a very high risk. It could cause further collapse. If we can make a hole big enough to get them through, we're only going to have a very small window to get them out before the whole thing goes." He sighed as he noticed the horror spreading across Amy's face. "Even without our intervention, the mine's going to collapse within twenty-four hours." He met Amy's tear-filled emerald eyes as he continued. "We're going to do our best, but I must warn you that there is a chance that the mine is going to collapse and kill them before we can get them out."

Everyone turned to Amy, as though they expected her to do something. For a moment, she was too shell-shocked to speak. It just kept getting worse. It was getting to the point where she could no longer see the end of this. Finally, she nodded and shrugged. "What choice do we have?" she asked as her voice threatened to break up. "Please…please get them out of there." She tore her gaze away from Greg and looked towards the mine. "I can't lose them."

* * *

The work had been going for nearly an hour when Ben sat down beside Amy. She didn't speak as he joined her and remained motionless until he placed a supportive hand upon her arm. He squeezed it gently as she looked up to meet his gaze. "They're making good progress down there," he explained. "That Greg bloke's spoken to PJ a few times. He's fine. The first thing PJ said to him was to ask if you had been injured in the second collapse."

A half-smile crossed Amy's lips. "Sounds like my Peej," she whispered.

Ben sighed reflectively as he sat back. "I was worried about him after the bombing," he told her quietly. She seemed to become a little more interested in what he had to say after that. "I'd watched him pull himself back together after Maggie died, then after his mother passed away." The mention of PJ's mother seemed to bring a hint of a smile to Ben's face. "Helena would have liked you. You're not Lebanese or Catholic, but you're a strong woman and you make PJ happy." He quickly returned to his original point. "After Jo died…I didn't think PJ would ever fall in love again. He felt guilty about what happened between him and Jo just before she died. I think we all did, in a way. But I could see that something about you attracted PJ. Even when I left, I was a little worried that it was going to end in tears, just like with Jo…" As Ben trailed off momentarily, his smile became stronger. "But I shouldn't have worried. PJ's more together now than he was and the foundations you built your relationship on are strong. I think you'll be fine."

Amy's half-smile vanished slowly as she cast her gaze back to the mine. "Yeah," she mumbled, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Maybe."

It was at that moment that the SES blokes suddenly burst into life. They seemed more animated, more urgent in their actions. Amy rose to her feet, instinctively realising that this was it. This was the small window of opportunity Greg had been talking about. She went to move closer to the mine shaft, but Ben grabbed her arm and shook his head. "Give them space," he told her, distracted himself by the new situation. "Let them do their jobs."

Reluctantly, she obeyed. Meanwhile, her heart pounded unnaturally fast in her chest and the breath seemed to catch in her lungs. She strained to hear what was being said, listening for any indication of what was going on.

Inside the mine, PJ noticed the sudden increase of action too. The decreasing oxygen levels were beginning to take their toll on him too and keeping himself alert was becoming difficult. He'd switched the torch on – there didn't seem to be much point in conserving the battery now. He sat beside Nick, who was resting with his head on his shoulder.

Greg's voice called out to him from the other side of what little remained of the rocky wall. "PJ! It's Greg Knight. We're about to make a hole in these rocks, but it won't last long before the whole mine goes. You're going to have to try to get yourself and Nick through this as quickly as you can. Do you understand?"

PJ nodded. "I understand," he called back. As he replied, he grabbed Nick and dragged him as gently as he could over to the wall. Meanwhile, the SES guys continued working away at the wall, carefully removing rock by rock until there was a gap just big enough for them to climb through. Almost instantly, the rumbling sound of impending collapse began to echo around them.

"Hurry!" Greg cried.

PJ did just that. He lifted Nick as best he could, while a couple of SES guys reached through and pulled him out. Almost as soon as Nick was out, PJ followed him; Greg's worn hands closing around the bare skin of his arms roughly. The mine collapsed behind him with a deafening sound that made PJ physically wince. Greg kept his grip on PJ, as though he didn't trust him to remain upright of his own accord. The SES men carefully carried Nick up out of the shaft before they allowed PJ to climb the ladder. Greg followed close behind – apparently for the same reason he hadn't released his grip earlier.

Once he was above ground, he found himself blinded momentarily. After two days in the dark, the sunlight was too strong for his eyes. So he didn't see Amy racing towards him until she had wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. She didn't move for the longest time while her breathing came in shaky gasps. It only took him a few seconds to respond, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to his chest.

It was a couple of minutes before he could finally choke out some kind of greeting. "I love you," he managed. "I'm never leaving you again."

_Beautiful girl  
__Stay with me_

_

* * *

Amy clung to PJ's arm as they headed out of the hospital towards where Mark was waiting with his car. He'd offered to drop them home, recognising that neither of them was capable of driving. Now out of the overheated mine, PJ had started feeling the June cold and Amy had given him back his jacket. She didn't agree with what Chris had told her the night before. The jacket hadn't looked better on her. Only PJ could wear that jacket right._

Zoe seemed to appear from nowhere, massaging her temples as she held a cup of coffee in her hand. She lit up at the sight of them, the bags under her eyes not quite as pronounced. "You heading home?" she asked quietly.

PJ nodded. "Yeah," he replied as he offered her a smile. "A long, hot shower and a good sleep will work wonders." He paused as he nodded down the corridor towards Nick's room. "So how's Nick going?"

"Fine, fine," she replied, gulping down a mouthful of coffee. "You didn't do too badly putting that shoulder back in place. I couldn't have done a better job, though I probably would have made sure he had some painkillers first…"

PJ shrugged. "I did what I could," he replied simply. "So he's going to be okay?"

Zoe nodded. "A good night's sleep and he'll be as good as new," she explained. "I'm just glad that he got out of there. I didn't particularly fancy the idea of life as a widow and single mother." She patted PJ's arm as she slipped down the corridor. She stopped at the last minute and wheeled back to face Amy and PJ. "What about the wedding?" she asked, looking to Amy in particular.

Amy shook her head. "Forget about it," she answered. "It's been postponed until further notice. We can't go ahead with it now."

As Zoe nodded and headed back to Nick, PJ looked to Amy with raised eyebrows. "Postponed?" he asked.

She nodded. "I didn't know if you or Nick were still alive," she reminded him. "I couldn't bring myself to keep organising a wedding when you guys were missing."

PJ frowned. "Well, we're back now," he pointed out. "The wedding can go ahead tomorrow afternoon as planned."

"But Nick's hurt," Amy mumbled, pressing her face into PJ's shoulder as she once again found herself overwhelmed by the weight of the wedding.

"You heard Zoe," he told her with a shrug. "He'll be fine by tomorrow." He lowered his voice as he sought her lips tenderly. "I've had a lot of time to think about things, Amez, and what I already knew has been confirmed. I love you and I want to show the world just how much you mean to me. I want to look at you in twenty four hours time and not just see my fiancée. I want to see my wife. I don't want to wait anymore."

A true smile spread across her face and she nodded without even needing to think. "Yes," she told him in a voice scarcely more than a whisper. "Yes, I'll marry you tomorrow." She kissed him passionately before pulling away and giggling slightly. "But, for tonight, we're going to get you home to sleep."

* * *

As soon as they got home, PJ began devouring the box of Chinese that they'd collected from the Imperial on the way. He ate all of his food in record time and even made a significant dent in hers. Normally, she'd have play-reprimanded him for stealing her dinner, but not tonight. She was happy enough to have her fiancé back.

Once he'd finished eating, he headed off to the bathroom to clean up. While she was waiting for him, Amy headed to the living room and switched on the television. Somehow, TV seemed so much more appealing than it had the night before. There was some Hugh Grant film on that held her interest for a few minutes before she gave up and changed the channel to an old rerun of _CSI_.

She was well and truly engrossed in it when PJ returned from what had to have been the longest shower in history; now smelling less like dirt and more like his usual self. He wrapped his arms around her as he flopped down on the couch beside her. "_CSI_, eh?" he asked with a grin.

She nodded. "Of course," she told him with a smile. "Where do you think I learnt it all?"

He chuckled as he reached across her lap to snatch the remote control from the other arm of the couch. He switched the television off, ignoring Amy's protests. He began dragging her to the bathroom. "Come on," he told her.

"Why are you taking me to the bathroom?" she asked, shaking her head in confusion. Tiredness had begun to set in and she no longer had the mental power to work out what PJ was doing.

"Making you do something you should have done ages ago," he replied as he opened the door.

Suddenly, she could see what had taken PJ so long. He'd lit about ten candles, setting them at different points around the bathroom. They were lavender scented, with the smell hitting her hard as soon as he'd opened the door. The bath was full, with bubbles rising from the water's surface. For a finishing touch, he'd switched off the main light, using the lamps on the counter instead.

"What is all this about?" she asked, looking to him blankly.

He laughed as he ruffled her hair playfully. "You're so highly strung right now that I could play you like a guitar," he pointed out. "It's time for you to unwind."

She nodded as she slipped into the bathroom and stole one more kiss before closing the door. "Thanks, Peej," she whispered, a little in disbelief. He'd come frighteningly close to death just a few hours ago, yet he was still trying to make her smile.

And, grinning at the thought of marrying him within the next twenty four hours, she slipped into the bathtub and let the lavender and bubble bath work their magic.

* * *

Her fingertips had almost started to wrinkle when she finally got out of the bath, pulled her fluffy violet dressing gown around her and headed for the bedroom. PJ was already there, dozing lightly on top of the blankets. It didn't take much to wake him. He rolled over to face her, offering her a tired smile. "You look beautiful," he told her.

She laughed lightly. She wasn't so sure she agreed with him. Her hair was half-wet and she knew that she must have looked something closer to the living dead. But he wasn't lying. "You don't look too bad yourself," she pointed out as she joined him on the bed. "I mean, for someone who spent a couple of days stuck in a collapsed mine." She paused thoughtfully as she propped herself up on her arm. "What were you and Nick doing there?" she asked, almost pleadingly. "Even Jonesy knew something about those mines. Why did you and Nick go anywhere near there?"

PJ thought for a moment before shrugging. "Curiosity, I guess," he replied simply. "We'd heard about them, but never seen them. We had nothing better to do. But when we got there, Nick decided he wanted a closer look. He was standing on the wooden planks when I heard something creaking. I tried to warn him, but we both ended up falling. Then some of the land starting caving in and we either had to crawl into the mine or end up buried alive."

Amy nodded, little tears entering her eyes as PJ described his predicament. It hurt her to think about it, because however terrified she had been, it would have been nothing compared to what was going through PJ and Nick's minds.

She finally shook herself out of her thoughts and reached over to place a tender hand upon PJ's cheek. As she shuffled closer to him, she let her hand drift down along his bare chest.

PJ looked a little alarmed. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly in surprise. "The bride isn't meant to see the groom the night before the wedding, let alone sleep with him."

"Peej," she began, shaking her head sadly. "Just a few hours ago, I thought that I would never get the opportunity to be with you again. Please don't send me away because of a stupid superstition."

It didn't take long for PJ to cave. He wrapped his arms around her as he pressed his lips against hers, taking in every part of her. The memory of her he had used to keep himself sane in the darkness of the mine hadn't done her justice. She was simply so much more beautiful when she was lying in his arms.

* * *

It was a few hours later when Amy awoke, her arms still draped loosely around PJ's chest. He was sleeping, or dozing to be more accurate. Normally he was a heavy sleeper, but apparently that didn't apply tonight. Simply raising her head was enough to stir him awake. His blue eyes met hers lovingly. "What's up?"

Something suddenly struck her – something that she hadn't considered even in the ten months since PJ had proposed. "My name," she whispered, her mind suddenly going into a whirl. "We haven't worked out what to do about my name."

PJ was still a little confused. "What about your name?" he asked.

"We're getting married tomorrow," she reminded him. Glancing at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock, she corrected herself. "We're getting married today. We still haven't talked about my name." She frowned thoughtfully. "Amy Hasham," she mused. "Senior Detective Amy Hasham…"

PJ shook his head. "Amy…"

She continued, ignoring him. "I suppose we could hyphenate it," she suggested. "Amy Fox-Hasham…no, that sounds worse!"

"Amy…"

"We can't really go with Amy Hasham though," Amy mumbled, running a hand back through her fringe as she desperately tried to find a solution. "Can you imagine what kind of confusion that would create? We'd have to introduce ourselves as Senior Detectives Hasham. That'd just be a nightmare…"

"Amy, shut up," PJ finally told her, his words silencing her tirade. Once he was certain she wasn't about to start again, he spoke. "I don't want you to change your name."

She frowned in bemusement. "Really?"

He nodded firmly. "Your name is perfect," he said as he traced her cheekbone with the back of his hand. "It's part of who you are. I love it as it is. You're Amy Rose Fox and I love you. You don't have to put Hasham in there. I'll know you're my wife and that I love you. That's all that matters."

She smiled as she kissed his lips before letting her head rest on the pillow beside his. The smile didn't fade as she drifted off to sleep again. She got the feeling that this was going to be a good day.

_I must have been alright in the last life  
__To be lying here with you  
__Someone in the last life to get  
__This second chance with you_

* * *

It was mid morning before they awoke, startled awake by a pounding from the front door. PJ groaned, clutching Amy tighter to his chest as she moved to answer it. "Don't get that," he told her gently.

"There's someone at the door," she pointed out.

PJ shook his head. "It's just the wind…blowing something against the door…three times in rapid succession." He clutched her closer as he spoke, apparently unwilling to let her go.

She considered obeying him, until she heard Nick's voice boom from near the front door. "Oi, Patrick, get up will you!"

PJ groaned as he finally let Amy go. She dressed quickly and grabbed a few things together before returning to kiss his lips tenderly. "It won't be for long," she reminded him. "You'll see me again this afternoon."

He sighed loudly. "But that's too far away!" he lamented, but he let her go. He threw on some clothes and followed her out to the veranda, where she was climbing into her silver Vee Dub Beetle. She waved as she drove off, disappearing around the bend.

Once she was gone, he looked to the men on his doorstep. Nick's arm was in a sling and his mouth was hanging open as he shook his head in disapproval. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," he mumbled. "That's bad luck, that is."

PJ shook his head. "Stuff superstition," he declared as he headed back inside. Nick, Mark, Ringo, Ben, Pat, Jonesy and Adam followed. "I suppose it's time to get ready, hey?" he asked.

Ben nodded. "Well, unless you'd like to marry Amy wearing an outfit that isn't worthy of being called clothing," he pointed out; gesturing to the old track pants and jumper that PJ had pulled on.

PJ looked a bit miffed. "What's wrong with my clothes?" he demanded, waving his arms wildly.

"Yeah," Nick added with a mouth full of biscuit. He'd started raiding Amy and PJ's cupboards and had found a tin full of Monte Carlos. "At least it's not pink like a few of his shirts are."

"You're just jealous," PJ told him as he snatched the tin from Nick. "At least I can wear pink and pull it off."

"Yes, you little pink shirt goddess you," Nick laughed as he patted PJ on the back. "Now, are you going to come help a poor man with a bung shoulder put his suit on?"

* * *

The other girls had already arrived by the time Amy slipped into the Imperial Hotel. Her breath was immediately taken away – they certainly hadn't gone easy on the decorations. All the tables had been rearranged, with a long one stretching along one of the walls. Each one was covered with silky white tablecloths and had already been set up for dinner. White streamers and balloons had been hung from the walls with a banner hanging above the tables, saying 'Congratulations Amy and PJ'. The sight brought a smile to her face.

She could hear voices from behind the bar in the kitchen. She headed through and found Chris speaking with a couple of her kitchen staff. A large multi-layered cake sat on the counter, covered in white icing and cream with a little married couple figure sitting on top. In pink icing, it proclaimed the same thing as the banner.

Her smile spread as Chris turned to face her. "Oh, Amy," she exclaimed, "you're here. We were wondering when you were going to show."

"PJ and I kind of overslept," she explained with a wave of her hand. "The boys woke us up."

Chris nodded, thankfully sparing her the comments about superstition. She was already dressed, wearing the dark emerald dress that they'd finally decided on for the bridesmaids. It was long-sleeved silk with a neckline that seemed to make Chris look even more beautiful than usual. It fell down to her ankles to reveal she was still wearing a pair of old fluffy slippers. Realising that Amy was looking at them, she smiled. "I don't like heels," she explained. "I'll put them on later."

Amy nodded as she looked back to Chris' face. She hadn't done anything with her hair yet, but the red curls still looked perfect. It made her a little jealous. It was a moment before she could shake herself back to attention. "I want to ask you a favour…" she began.

Chris looked at her warily, her smile fading a little. "What kind of favour?"

"Do you remember how I said that I didn't want a maid of honour, that I couldn't pick between you all?" she asked. Chris nodded in reply and Amy continued. "Well…I know it's a bit last minute-y and all…but I was wondering if you'd like to be my maid of honour."

Chris' jaw dropped. "What? Why…why me?"

It was a moment before Amy could find the words to reply. "That night…after I found out PJ and Nick were missing…it was torture. You held me and you made me feel better. I guess this is kind of my way of saying thank you."

Chris shook her head. "I don't expect you to do this," she pointed out. "I don't expect you to do anything. I was comforting a friend. It doesn't need a thank you."

Amy nodded firmly. "Yes, it does," she told her. She met Chris' eyes strongly. "I really want you to be my maid of honour. It doesn't really require you to do anything more than you're already doing…but…but I just want you to do it. Please?"

Chris smiled. "How could I say no?" she asked with a laugh as she pulled Amy into a hug. "Of course I will!" As she pulled away, she gestured towards the stairs. "Dash, Zoe and Tess are upstairs," she explained. "Oh, and you've got a couple of special guests as well."

Puzzlement crept across Amy's face. "Special guests?" she asked in confusion. When Chris simply refused to reply, she headed upstairs to take a look for herself. One of the rooms had been taken over and laughing echoed down the hallway from it. As she approached, she recognised Dash, Zoe and even Tess' voices, but there were two she couldn't quite put a finger on. Two that she didn't hear nearly as regularly. It wasn't until she entered the room that she finally realised who they were.

"Aunty Amy!" Chloe Maguire cried as she threw herself on Amy, wrapping her arms around her. A little dazed, Amy found there was nothing she could do except pat her on the back gently.

She looked up to see Brendan sitting on the bed, grinning at her nervously. "You said you weren't coming!" she told him as Chloe finally pulled away.

Brendan shrugged cheekily. "I lied," he replied and climbed to his feet to pull his younger cousin into a hug. As she squeezed him back, she found herself tearing up automatically. It was so good to see him, particularly since he seemed to be so much more together now than he had been last time. He chuckled as he rubbed her back soothingly. "Hey now, don't cry," he told her, a little surprised by the strength of her reaction.

She laughed. "Don't tell me what to do," she replied simply as she buried her face in his shoulder. She was surprised at how good it felt to have him and Chloe there with her. As though finally all the pieces of her life were finally coming together.

* * *

PJ paused as he climbed out of the car, a little dazzled at how the garden looked. Someone – he wasn't quite sure who – had turned the place into something that belonged in a bridal magazine. White and red flowers surrounded several rows of plastic white chairs and adorned the white arch out the front. An aisle had been left down the middle of the chairs, with white and red roses attached to the edges of the seats either side. A grin spread across his face as he followed Nick up the aisle. He'd wanted to give Amy the wedding dreams were made of and it seemed that was exactly what he was going to give her.

He stopped when he reached the archway, Nick standing beside him. He shot him a glance from the corner of his eye. "Tell me you've got the ring."

Nick laughed as he dug through his jacket with his good arm and pulled out a small felt-covered box. He held it out for PJ to inspect. "It's just about the only thing that didn't go wrong," he pointed out.

PJ's smile broadened a little as he watched his other friends begin to set up. They were playing around with the video camera. Ringo filmed as Jonesy, Ben and Adam jokingly argued over who was the most attractive man at the wedding and then as Mark and Pat swapped old policing stories, completely unaware that they were being caught on camera.

It wasn't long before the celebrant arrived. It was a woman with cropped auburn hair and a dark suit that PJ could easily see Amy wearing. She ran through a few last minute preparations with him while they waited for the rest of the guests.

There weren't many. Tess arrived first, surprising PJ with her passengers of Brendan and Chloe. Chloe tore up the aisle to PJ, giving him a rib-breaking hug as she told him how great it was to have him as an uncle. Her words brought a bright red blush onto his cheeks.

When Chloe finally pulled away, PJ straightened up his suit. It was a fairly casual outfit that matched Nick's – a white shirt with the top couple of buttons undone, with black pants and a jacket and no tie. They'd decided that something relatively casual was best. After all, this really was just the formality.

Everyone was still milling around when Adam went out to check if the girls were coming. He returned looking excited. "They're here!"

At Adam's call, everyone began to assemble and Mark headed over to where the CD player was sitting on a small table adorned with a bouquet of white and red roses. Music began to play quietly as Zoe appeared, her dark curls pulled back into a bun with her fringe falling lightly over her forehead.

Nick wolf whistled at her, causing her to shake her head in disbelief. She laughed a little as she tightened her grip on her flowers, pulling them closer to her stomach. When she reached PJ and Nick, she stopped to hit her husband playfully on the arm. He simply shrugged in response. "Not my fault you're gorgeous," he pointed out.

_So leave your taxi waiting  
__And turn and close my door  
__And sit back down where you were sitting  
__A little closer than before_

Dash followed after, her straight dark hair pulled back into a ponytail with her fringe framing her face. Her eyes seemed to shimmer as she searched the crowd for Adam and Phoebe and her cheeks became red as she found them. Adam was grinning stupidly, a little lost in Dash's beauty. Her eyes had always captivated him – in fact, they had been the first thing he'd ever noticed about her. But, walking down the aisle, wearing the emerald green dress and carrying the bouquet of roses, she was simply stunning.

_The closer you are the more I see  
__Why everyone says that I look happier when you're around_

Once Dash had reached the others, Chris followed. She was grinning, despite her obvious discomfort at wearing the high-heeled green sandals that matched her dress. Her face was turning as red as her hair under the amazed stares of her friends. They'd never imagined Chris could look this stunning. One person was more dazzled than the others. Mark froze where he stood next to the CD player, his hand hovering over the buttons. It was as though he was seeing Chris with new eyes. Suddenly, she wasn't just the publican who might as well be a police officer for all the help she gave them. She was someone he felt a connection with.

She met his gaze for just the briefest of seconds before he looked away, blushing bright red. For that second, he hadn't been aware of anything else. It had just been them in a world that looked more beautiful than it ever had before.

_When you look that serious  
__It just makes me want you more_

As the bridesmaids took their places, PJ felt anticipation swell within him. He craned his neck to get a better look as Amy appeared, a nervous smile on her face and looking as though it was physically paining her to not run down the aisle to him instead of walking.

The wedding dress was more beautiful than PJ could have imagined. It was silk and lace with long sleeves that fell down to her wrists. The neckline fell down below her collarbone, exposing the necklace he had given her for Christmas the year she had returned to Mt. Thomas. The dress stopped hugging her body at her waist – it fell out in a kind of hoop, with the hem reaching her ankles. There, PJ could see white heels that matched the design of the bridesmaids.

Still a little dazed, he turned his gaze back to her face. She was blushing a little at the attention. Her hair had been left loose, but seemed to have a bit of a wave to it. Even her fringe seemed more relaxed, falling over her forehead rather than being brushed to one side. The veil had been attached at the back, but didn't fall over her face as PJ would have expected. Instead, it fell down her back to her waist, fluttering slightly in the cool winter breeze.

As he watched her, he felt his heart begin to pound away in his chest.

_And yes, I know you're nervous  
__Never seen you so unsure_

Amy found it hard to keep her pace even and calm as she made her way down the aisle. She was acutely aware of the stares from her colleagues and friends and it made her feel more nervous than before. She tried to focus on PJ to keep herself calm. He was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. The thought nearly made her laugh.

It was a surreal feeling. Just twenty four hours ago, she was terrified that she'd lost him. Now, she was marrying him.

_The wait is over and now it's easy  
__Everything is fine_

She'd scarcely reached the archway when PJ suddenly reached out to pull her into his arms. She nearly dropped the bouquet in shock when he began to kiss her, passionately and with nothing holding him back. It was mere seconds before the shock passed and she kissed him back, just as passionately.

She was vaguely aware of the others laughing and Nick's voice as he tapped PJ on the shoulder. "Ah, mate," he began, "you're traditionally supposed to wait until after the vows before you start trying to make out with her."

Nick's words seemed to bring PJ back to earth and he slowly pulled away, his hand lingering on Amy's cheek for a long moment. His touch caused Amy to speak before she even really realised what it was she was going to say. "I've got butterflies in my stomach," she confessed.

PJ grinned at her with his heart-melting smile, the one that had always made her feel better. He leaned in a little closer as he replied. "You're lucky if you've just got butterflies," he explained. "I've got flying saucers in mine."

She laughed as his words, before handing the bouquet over to Chris. As soon as the flowers had left her hands, she reached for PJ's. She clasped them tightly as she met his eyes. There was a conviction there that startled PJ a little. "Let's do this," she told him and he nodded in reply. They were ready.

_The closer you get  
__The better I feel_

Mark switched off the CD player and resumed his seat next to Pat. The early part of the ceremony passed quickly, with the celebrant giving the usual spiel while Amy and PJ stared at one another, not really aware of anything else going on around them. It wasn't until they reached the vows that they seemed to leave their little world and return to reality.

PJ began. "Five years ago, I thought it was the end of the world. After all the things I'd done, all the stupid mistakes I'd made, I didn't think I deserved another chance. But then I walked into that dingy little room we turned into an office and found you. I guess it was love at first sight, because I've never fallen that hard or that fast before." He paused as he tightened his hold on her hands slightly. Little tears were beginning to glistening in his eyes. "I fell in love with everything about you – your laugh, your smile, your mind. Everything about you is beautiful. So beautiful I don't have words for it. I just know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you."

Amy turned bright red at PJ's words, her cheeks already stained with the tears that she simply couldn't contain. She didn't know if she wanted to. Shaking a little, she began to speak. "Most girls spend their whole lives planning their wedding," she explained. "I never did. I never thought I'd be standing here with someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. Somewhere along the line, you came into my life and you changed everything. You made me smile, you made me laugh, you taught me how beautiful people are and how precious every moment is. You took away all my fears, my doubts, my insecurities. I've never felt as loved and wanted and safe as I do now. I never dreamed I'd want to spend the rest of my life with someone, but I do. I want to spend it with you because I love you, Peej." She shrugged a little as PJ's hand left hers momentarily to wipe a tear from her cheek. "I don't think there's any other way to put it."

As PJ slowly lowered his hand from her cheek, he began to speak again. "I, Patrick Joseph Hasham, promise to always be there beside you, to love you and trust you the way you trust me. I will cherish every second of every day we spend together and always make you feel safe, wanted and loved. I promise this as I take you as my wife."

"I, Amy Rose Fox," Amy said as her voice began to waver slightly, "promise to always be there beside you, to love you and trust you the way you trust me. I will cherish every second of every day we spend together and always make you feel safe, wanted and loved. I promise this as I take you as my husband."

_I'll keep you from danger  
__Save you from prying eyes_

As Amy finished speaking, the celebrant finally spoke once again. "We will now have the exchange of rings."

PJ turned to Nick, who used his good hand to dig through his jacket until he found the little case he'd shown him earlier. PJ took the simple gold band from the box gently and slipped it onto Amy's finger. "This ring I give to you as a token of my love and devotion. I pledge to you all that I am and all I will ever be. With this ring, I gladly marry you and join my life to yours."

For a moment, Amy couldn't move. She could only run her fingertips along the ring. Once she had composed herself, she turned to Chris who handed her another box. Slipping the ring onto PJ's finger, she repeated his pledge.

As soon as the ring was on PJ's finger, she looked up to meet his gaze. He was crying too now. He once again cupped her cheek tenderly in his hand. It was clear that he wasn't really listening as the celebrant declared them husband and wife or when she told him that he could kiss the bride. It wasn't until Nick tapped him on the shoulder that he seemed to take any notice of anything besides Amy.

"Now, you can kiss her," Nick prompted.

PJ didn't need anymore encouragement. He wrapped his arms around Amy and less than a second later was kissing her passionately again. She was kissing him back with equal enthusiasm, no longer caring who was watching. The whole world could see for all she cared. The marriage didn't really change anything – it was really just a formality – and she found it difficult to think of PJ with a term as ordinary as 'husband', but she was happier than she'd been in a long time. And, she could tell from the way PJ held her that he was feeling the exact same thing.

_I can make the world safe for you  
__Nothing bad will happen now_

* * *

Nick cleared his throat loudly as he climbed to his feet, tapping his spoon against his glass. It seemed to catch the attention of everyone else in the Imperial public bar. "Ah, I just need a few moments of your time," he explained. As everyone fell silent, he continued. "I think it's about time I did my job and gave the best man's speech. I've spent the good part of six months trying to write this and still don't have a clue what I'm going to say, so I guess I'm just going to have to let this come from the heart."

PJ rolled his eyes as he leaned over to his new bride. "Here we go…" he mumbled as Amy giggled a little.

"Oi!" Nick called, shaking his head. "Pipe down over there!" PJ waved his hand apologetically and Nick continued. "Well…what can I say about PJ and Amy? I guess I'm blessed for having known them. Patrick…well, he used to be your typical city D, but you had to love him. He's been my best mate since I arrived in Mt. Thomas and we've shared a lot since then. The good times, the bad times, the late night soccer…We've helped each other through some of the hardest times imaginable." Nick smiled a little as he reflected, desperately trying to find the words. He was normally very good at thinking on his feet, but finding the right words to describe his two best friends was hard. "Over the years, we've all been touched by PJ. We've laughed with him, cried with him, slowly watched the hair disappear from his head…"

Everyone chuckled at this, while PJ wore a look of disbelief. "Oh, thanks mate," he called to him with a laugh.

Nick grinned. "But, seriously…mates like PJ come along once in a lifetime. When you find them, you hang onto them because you know you'll never find someone that loyal again. When you're in a corner, Patrick's the one you want on your side because you know he'll stick by you, even when he probably shouldn't. This is probably why Foxtrot here is the luckiest girl in the world…not counting my Zo-Zo."

Amy began to burn bright red as PJ kissed her forehead gently. They waited as Nick continued to speak.

"Amy…she walked into this town and turned the place on its head," Nick chuckled. "When I first saw her, I knew she'd give Patrick here a run for his money. 'Pure liquorice' I think I called her. I was right. Another thing I was right about was the effect she had on PJ. I hadn't seen anyone that love struck in a long time. I was well aware of the lingering looks they shot each other."

Amy laughed a little as she turned to PJ. "Pure liquorice?" she queried with a raised eyebrow. "When was this?"

"Only a couple of days after you'd arrived," he explained. "To be honest, I'm surprised Nick judged the situation so accurately and so quickly."

Amy shrugged. "I guess he's more perceptive than we give him credit for," she suggested.

Nick continued, apparently unaware of Amy and PJ's conversation. "Amy…well, she's one of the best people I've ever had the honour of knowing. She's beautiful, strong, smart…a fox by name and a fox by nature, but at her core she's one of the best friends I've ever had. It can take some time to get close to her, but once you have, you've got a friend for life. She'll go like an attack dog to protect those she loves. I once watched this girl stand up to a murdered unarmed to protect PJ and I. So, Patrick, I reckon you've got nothing to worry about."

PJ turned to Amy, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "So that's what happened when Lloyd Johnson stormed the hospital," he said. "You didn't tell me you stood up to him unarmed."

She sighed thoughtfully. "We kind of had a few other things to worry about," she reminded him. He nodded as he remembered.

"Anyway…" Nick said as he cleared his throat to regather the newlyweds' attention. "I suppose this is where I'm supposed to give the married couple some of the advice I've learnt over the years. Well…to Patrick, I'd like to say that marriage is give or take – you'd better give it to her, or she'll take it anyway." He chuckled at his own joke, before continuing. "No, seriously…cherish her. Make her feel like she's something special, because she is. Never miss a chance to tell her how much you love her because you can never say it enough. Trust me."

At this, PJ leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I love you," he told her tenderly.

"As for Amy…well, I don't know how much advice I can give except to be patient. PJ here may not always make the best decisions and he may not always say the right things, but he loves you. Just…let him love you." Nick met Amy's eyes firmly as he spoke. The connection lasted for a few seconds before he continued speaking, but it was enough. "You do deserve it." Silence seemed to follow as Nick let his words sink in. Once he was certain they had, he began to wind up his speech. "Well, I think I've been babbling for long enough, so I suppose I ought to finish up. I'd like to propose a toast to PJ and Amy – the two best mates a bloke could ever wish for." He grabbed his glass and raised it above his head. "I think I speak for everyone here when I wish them a wonderful life together."

Chris nodded as she raised her glass. "To Amy and PJ!" she declared. She was soon followed by a chorus of other voices, all repeating her toast.

PJ pulled Amy closer as he pressed his lips against her forehead. She smiled happily as she mumbled something to herself. "To us."

* * *

PJ twirled Amy around cleared space in the dining room, laughing a little at her awkwardness. She certainly wasn't the world's most talented dancer, but he supposed he wasn't either. They really weren't moving to the music, but rather just to their own beat.

Outside the pub, the weather had begun to turn a little nasty. Rain was falling, the noise echoing loudly on the Imperial's tin roof. It didn't really matter somehow. The day had been so perfect that no amount of bad weather could ruin a thing.

_The rain is falling on my window pane  
__But we are hiding in a safer place_

As the music continued to play, Chris sat behind the bar, sipping on a glass of red wine. She'd never been much of a wine girl, but today seemed to warrant it. This was a celebration and it had to be treated like one. She couldn't help but smile as she watched Amy and PJ dance. The only thing that could dampen her spirits was the little niggling feeling inside, the one that reminded her that she didn't have this wonderful uplifting relationship that her friends did.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't notice Nick standing in front of her until he spoke. "So are we going to dance or not, Christine?"

She frowned a little in confusion. "Dance?"

"Well, I'm the best man, you're the maid of honour," Nick reminded her. "It's kind of in the job description that we have to dance."

Chris groaned as she let Nick lead her out onto the floor with his good arm. "Let's just get this over with."

Nick laughed as he began to twirl her around, but the laughter didn't last long. Chris soon proved how bad her dancing was when she stepped on his foot – three times within two minutes.

When the song finally finished, Nick headed back over to Zoe, limping a little as he went. As he passed Ringo, the younger officer fixed him with a look of concern. "Are you okay, Sarge?" he asked worriedly. "Is it the shoulder?"

Nick simply looked at him in disbelief. "How many left feet can one woman have?" he demanded as Ringo burst into laughter.

* * *

"Alright, alright," PJ called. "Time for the bouquet toss! All women assemble!"

Dash kissed Adam as she hurried over, followed closely by Zoe. She turned to face her as she laughed. "You're already married, remember?" she pointed out.

Zoe laughed. "Well, someone has to come make this bouquet toss interesting," she pointed out. "If we were just going by unmarried women, it'd just be you, Chris and Chloe competing. Not much of a competition."

They were soon joined by Chloe, followed by Tess. They fixed Tess with a puzzled stare, to which she shrugged. "Evan's idea," she explained. She looked to Zoe and laughed. "At least I'm not the only married woman taking part."

Chris was watching from the bar when Adam joined her. "Why aren't you over there?" he asked.

She looked at him pointedly. "Because I'm not interested in getting married again," she explained. "One failed marriage and one failed engagement are plenty for me."

Adam laughed. "No one's taking this seriously, you know," he reminded her. "Tess and Zoe are married and they're still joining in." He leant across the bar as he fixed her with a cheeky grin. "Come on, Chrissie. Please?"

She went to resist, but decided against it. "Fine," she snapped as she headed over to the other women. "But only because I can't resist that smile of yours."

With the women assembled, Amy tossed the bouquet over her shoulders. It flew through the air, missing the others and sailing right into Chris' hands. She sighed as she headed back to where Adam was waiting at the bar. "Happy now?" she asked as she sat the flowers down on the bar and grabbed herself another glass of wine. "I swear Amy was aiming at me."

Adam smiled. "You know I reckon you might have a relationship on the horizon?" At Chris' blank look, he elaborated. "Did you see the way Mark was looking at you at the wedding?"

She shook her head. Adam laughed in disbelief.

"He likes you," Adam explained. "Not that I blame you. I still reckon you've got more sex appeal than most women."

Chris laughed nervously as she looked around for Mark. He was leaning against the far wall, chatting with Ben. She turned back to Adam as she combed strands of hair from her eyes. "Wouldn't let Dash hear you saying that if I were you," she replied simply.

Adam shot her a final grin before heading back over to where Phoebe was snoozing in Dash's arms. "Just give him a chance," he told her with a wink.

Adam walked past Amy and PJ as he headed back to Dash. The newlyweds were talking with Jonesy, who was nodding over to where Tess was trying to convince her son to stop chasing Travis and Trevor Schultz around the pub. "Did I tell you she's pregnant?" Jonesy finally asked, out of the blue.

Bewilderment crept into PJ's face. "Who's pregnant?" he asked, tightening his grip on Amy's waist. Part of him had already worked it out and his gaze was already travelling to Tess.

"Tessy, of course," he replied with a grin that exposed the truth for all to see. "She's about fourteen weeks."

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Really?" she demanded in surprise.

Jonesy nodded enthusiastically. "She was worried about trying for a baby," he explained. "There were complications with Evan," he added for Amy's sake. "She didn't want a repeat. In the end, it was a bit of an accident really." His grin broadened. "But I can't be happier, guys. It's like magic. It really is."

Amy looked to PJ, half-expecting to see some pain in his eyes as he remembered that they would never have children of their own. But there was none. Just excitement for his friends.

"So…" PJ asked. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"

Jonesy shrugged. "I don't care," he told them cheerfully. "Just as long as it's ours."

* * *

It was late and the rain was heavier when Amy and PJ went to leave. Their flight to Hobart left early the next morning and they had to get to Melbourne. They'd both changed – PJ into a casual blue shirt and jeans and Amy into a pink woollen jumper and black pants. The wedding guests followed them outside to the car, which had been decorated at some stage during the evening. 'Just married' had been writing on the bonnet of PJ's old car, with empty cans hanging from the back of the vehicle.

Everyone said their goodbyes – with PJ and Amy whispering congratulations to Tess – as the newlyweds climbed into the car. As they drove away, PJ found himself stealing a quick kiss from his new bride.

"That was a bizarre day," Amy decided as she flopped back in the passenger seat.

PJ nodded as he turned off on the road towards their house. They had to grab some bags before driving to Melbourne and checking into the motel that was already booked for the night. PJ had organised the whole honeymoon before the disastrous camping trip. "Yeah," he laughed. "Not to mention that whole nightmarish buck's whatever-it-was."

"At least you didn't end up tarred and feathered and tied to a power pole," Amy pointed out.

PJ laughed in agreement. "That's a point," he said as he reached over to squeeze Amy's knee. "So…my gorgeous wifey…"

Amy looked to him with raised eyebrows. "Wifey?" she asked in disbelief. "You call me wifey again and I'll deck you."

He grinned as he turned back to the road. Everything seemed to be falling nicely into place – not just for him but for everyone else. Tess and Jonesy's family was growing, Ringo and Pat had begun to bond and there was even love on the horizon for Chris and Mark if the looks he'd seen during the course of that afternoon and evening counted for anything.

And he had Amy – for love, pain and the whole damn thing. And that was all that mattered.

_You make me smile, baby  
__Please stay for a while now  
__Just take your time  
__Wherever you go_

* * *

Next episode... "The Thing about Heroes"

The lives of those Nick loves most are placed in jeopardy when he is faced with the one killer he couldn't put away. Mark clashes with the new District Inspector.


	6. Ep 26: The Thing about Heroes

**Episode 26: "The Thing about Heroes"**

_Summary: The lives of those Nick loves most are placed in jeopardy when he is faced with the one killer he couldn't put away. Mark clashes with the new District Inspector._

_Lyrics come from__ "The Day Before The Day" by Dido and "Run to Paradise" by Choir Boys._

Nick was busy playing minesweeper when he heard the door to the back entrance open and close. It was followed by Amy and PJ's voices, which became progressively louder as they approached. They were talking and laughing, apparently about an episode of _24 _that PJ had conned her into watching the night before.

"I seriously don't get that show," Amy pointed out. "I mean, why does that Jack guy never have to go to the toilet? Or eat, for that matter."

PJ was laughing. Nick could picture him shaking his head in disbelief. "That is seriously the last time I ever watch anything with you."

They had been back for a couple of days. They'd enjoyed their Tasmanian honeymoon, by all accounts. Although Nick liked to point out that Tasmania wasn't a very romantic place for a honeymoon, he did seem to enjoy the box of goodies they'd bought for him at the chocolate factory.

Mark had entered the muster room by the time Amy and PJ appeared. "Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence," he told them.

"Sorry, Boss," PJ grinned sheepishly. "We were getting ready for work."

Mark looked doubtful. "And it usually takes you three hours to get ready for work, does it?"

PJ chuckled. "Well, it depends," he explained with a shrug as Amy, hearing the phone ring in the CI office, slipped away to answer it. "I mean, sometimes if we…"

Mark placed his hands over his ears and headed back to his office. "I don't think I want to know."

Nick sat forward in his chair, an eager grin on his face. "I do."

"Pervert," PJ told him as he hit him playfully over the head.

Nick's cheeky grin spread. "Nah, just curious," he replied as he climbed to his feet. He drew himself up to his full height thoughtfully. "Well, Patrick Joseph dear, I think I'm going to go use the little Sergeant's room…"

"And you're telling me why?" PJ laughed. "I don't want to know about your bodily functions."

As Nick disappeared, Dash entered the muster room, brushing past him in the doorway. She looked after him in bewilderment before turning to PJ. "What about Nick's bodily functions?"

"Nothing," PJ mumbled as he headed to the CI office. Amy was hanging up the phone when he entered. "Anything important?" he asked.

She shook her head as she sat down at her desk. "Just Chris wanting to see how we were enjoying our first day back," she explained. "She reacted fairly similarly to Mark when I explained why we were late."

PJ smiled as he sat down and placed his feet on his desk. "Anyway," he began, "what does my gorgeous wifey want to do for dinner?"

Amy glared at him before picking up the nearest pen and throwing it at PJ. It hit him in the chest. He looked at her, his expression one of disbelief. She simply shrugged in reply. "I told you not to call me wifey," she told him as she began to dig through the paperwork on her desk.

* * *

Dash was making a start on her pile of paperwork when the buzzer sounded. Sighing dismally, she headed off to the reception area. There was a man standing on the other side of the counter, wearing an old plaid shirt and jeans. He was in his mid-forties and has short curly blonde hair that was combed back from his face. His eyes almost seemed to be golden and seemed to stare right through her.

"Can I…ah, help you?" Dash finally asked.

The man nodded as he pulled away from the counter slightly. "I, ah, think you can," he replied. He eyed the closed door leading to the muster room suspiciously. "Is Sergeant Schultz in?"

Dash looked at him in curiosity. "Why?"

A slight smile crossed the man's face. "My name's Raymond Hunt," he told her. "I'm a…an old friend of Nick's."

Dash's face brightened at the explanation. "Oh," she exclaimed. "How long have you known him?"

Hunt laughed a little, put at ease by Dash's relaxed expression. "High school," he offered as an explanation. The way he said it told Dash that that was all that needed to be said.

"Well, you'd better come through," she told him, lifting the counter so he could enter. "Nick should be glad to see you, then."

He grinned as Dash let him in and guided him to the mess room. They'd no sooner reached it then the phone started ringing in the muster room. Excusing herself, Dash left Hunt alone and headed off to answer it. She'd no sooner left than Nick appeared from the toilets, his relaxed grin growing blank then hard as he recognised the man before him.

Hunt stood up, laughing a little at Nick's reaction. "Well, hello Schultzy," he greeted him.

Nick glared at him harshly, still a little in shock. "You should be rotting in a cell somewhere," he grumbled, his rage beginning to mount.

"Technicalities," Hunt offered by way of explanation. "Marvellous things, aren't they? Your Homicide crew – very good when it comes to conducting vendettas, but I'm afraid they don't really stack up in the paperwork stakes."

Something inside Nick snapped. He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Hunt by the throat and forcing him back against the lockers. It was noisier than he'd expected, but he didn't really notice. He was too busy keeping Hunt pinned against the cool metal.

Hunt's eyes bugged a little as Nick's grip grew tighter. "Go ahead, Schultzy," he goaded him. "Kill me. I'd love to see you explain that one."

For a moment, Nick closed his hand tighter, only to finally release his grip. As Hunt staggered away, he opened and closed his hand reflectively. He looked up from his hand to meet Hunt's eyes. "You're not worth it," he pointed out. "You're not worth destroying my career."

Hunt grinned. "What about the girls?" he asked. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? The little girls…Erica…"

Nick tried his best to ignore Hunt's words. He knew what he was attempting to do. He was trying to goad him into doing something stupid, something that would give Hunt enough ammunition to completely destroy him. But he couldn't ignore that. He couldn't ignore the images of bloodied, mutilated bodies that passed before his eyes.

"Shut up!" he snapped again as he rounded on Hunt. "You don't even deserve to utter those girls' names!" He began to advance on the man who was almost laughing in his face. "You pathetic little piece of shit!"

He grabbed Hunt by the shirt and slammed his back against the lockers. He was about to have another go at him when the door to the mess room opened and Amy's voice sounded loudly. "Nick! What do you think you're doing? Let him go!"

Nick was reluctant, until he felt PJ's hand on his shoulder. "Mate," he told him gently. "Let him go."

At PJ and Amy's instructions, Nick finally relinquished Hunt and moved several steps away from him. He watched him warily as he braced himself on the mess room table. "The man's a child killer," he explained for PJ and Amy's sake. "He raped and murdered little girls for fun. He's a sick bastard who got off on a technicality."

Amy nodded slowly as she headed over to Hunt she checked him over, but remained distant from him. Nick's words had had an effect. Suddenly, she couldn't bring herself to meet Hunt's eyes. "Do you wish to make a complaint?" she asked.

Hunt didn't reply. Instead, he was watching Amy. There was something in his eyes that set something off inside of PJ. It was jealousy and protectiveness. "And what's your name, sweetheart?" Hunt asked.

"Fox," Amy finally answered, standing up a little straighter as she recoiled away from him. He seemed to be even more pleased by this.

"Ah," Hunt said with a smirk. "Foxy Detective."

Recognising what was passing through Hunt's mind, PJ moved forward, grabbing him roughly. As he led him out of the station, he began to mumble in his ear. "If I ever catch you even thinking about my wife that way again, I will personally rip your head off and shove it where the sun don't shine. Clear?"

Hunt raised an eyebrow before nodding. "Crystal."

* * *

When PJ returned to the mess room, Amy was sitting at the table, watching Nick as he stood stooped over the sink. He was splashing cold water over his face, trying to stop his hands from trembling. As Amy caught sight of PJ, she offered him a puzzled shrug and he took it upon himself to find out just what had happened. "Mate," he began, "what the hell was that all about?"

Nick turned the tap off before turning to PJ and Amy. His movements were slow and his eyes were surprisingly blank. It almost scared them. "I dealt with him in Homicide," he explained. "He killed eight girls over the course of seven years. The oldest was ten. The youngest was five."

Amy cringed at the thought. "You said he raped and murdered them," she probed.

He nodded as he leant back against the bench. "He didn't just rape and murder them," he told them as his face grew distant. "He abducted them by force. Usually it was a blow to the back of the head when they were walking home from school, waiting for the bus…then he kept them in his little shed for hours – some times days. He raped them several times before he killed them. They were beaten to death…one of them was stabbed fifty seven times. Then…then he dumped them out in some little piece of bushland or a park and wait for me to find them."

PJ made a face. "That is one sick puppy," he mumbled.

"Understatement of the millennium, Patrick," Nick continued quietly. "He just did it for fun at first – then he turned it into a game. It was a game against me. He knew I knew he was responsible and he knew I knew I had no evidence. He played with me for years. Until…"

"Until…" Amy probed again.

Nick looked to her with sadness in his eyes. "Until he took my colleague's daughter," he finished. He sighed as he passed a hand across his eyes. "Her name was Erica Green – her mother was a Detective Constable in my crew. She was six years old. I made sure that case was watertight. It should have been…" He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know how it fell apart…" He climbed to his feet. "I'm going to go find out."

He headed to the muster room, where he found Dash sitting at her computer, working away on something. He stopped at her desk and leant down so that their faces were level. She looked to him in confusion. "What?"

"Why did you let Hunt into the station?" he demanded harshly as Amy and PJ watched. They were ready to pull him off, just in case his quick temper got the better of him again.

Dash still looked confused. "He said he was an old friend," she explained.

"Have I ever mentioned Raymond Hunt as being an old friend before?"

She shook her head. "No," she admitted.

Nick nodded. "There's a very good reason for that," he pointed out. "The man is child-killing scum and now you've just shown him how to get into the station. Well done, Deidre." His tone became bitter as he finished.

As he stormed away, Dash looked a little puzzled and offended. She looked to Amy and PJ pleadingly. "What the hell is wrong with him?" she asked.

"He let a case get under his skin," PJ explained simply as he returned to the CI office, Amy following close behind.

* * *

It was late when PJ found himself sitting at his desk, entertaining himself by tossing an old tennis ball up into the air, then catching it again expertly. Amy was still working, biting her bottom lip distractedly as she typed up a brief for a cold burg they had attended earlier that day.

PJ had just caught the ball for the fiftieth time when he suddenly sat forward, looking thoughtful. "Hunt said that Nick's crew ran a vendetta," he mused.

Amy looked up suddenly, her eyes widening at PJ's words. "And you believe him?" she asked doubtfully.

It took a moment before PJ could reply. "I've known Nick for something close to seventeen years," he explained. "I know how personally involved he gets in cases. Especially ones involving children being hurt."

"I know that, Peej," she pointed out. "But…I can't believe that Nick would brick someone, even someone as deserving as Hunt." She shook her head thoughtfully. "I don't think Nick would have run a vendetta. I don't think he would have set someone up."

PJ sighed as he regarded Amy thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded as he grabbed his jacket and climbed to his feet. "I know someone who might know what's really going on here," he told her. At her puzzled stare, he explained himself. "Zoe. She's on late shift at the hospital. I'll go see what she has to say about this."

She rolled her eyes in disbelief. "You think Nick stitched him up," she mumbled shaking her head as she too stood up and headed for the door. "Well, while you go and be suspicious about someone who is supposed to be your best friend, I'm going to go get dinner."

He watched her go for a minute before lurching after her, pulling Amy into his arms. He held her there for a few seconds before kissing her. As they finally pulled away, PJ offered her an explanation. "My mother always said that, whatever you do; don't let a woman walk out on you in a temper."

A half smile spread across Amy's face. The mention of PJ's mother made her remember Ben's comment while they had watched the SES try to free PJ and Nick from the mine. "I think I would have liked your mother," she told him quietly.

PJ grinned. "That's good," he replied, "because she would have adored you."

Amy smiled a little as she freed herself from PJ's arms. "Well, I think I'd better go get dinner before Chris starts wanting to close up," she explained, pulling her mustard coloured coat tighter around her as she slipped away.

He watched her go, his grin fading as his mind drifted away from his wife and towards Nick's predicament. He didn't honestly believe that Nick had set anyone up, but he knew that he was too involved in this. And Zoe was the only one who could give him any answers.

* * *

Zoe was sitting in the tea room, shovelling a spoonful of microwave pasta into her mouth as PJ appeared. She shrugged in confusion as he approached. "What dirty rotten crime do you need my help in solving now?" she asked, only for her confusion to deepen as she realised that Amy wasn't in tow. "Hang on, I thought they only let you lot out in pairs."

"This isn't official, Zo," PJ explained as he pulled up a seat beside her. She began to eat again as he continued. "I need you to tell me about someone."

She shrugged again. "Who?"

"Raymond Hunt," he told her and watched as the shiver of terror ran up her spine.

* * *

Nick was home alone when he finally headed over to the computer and switched it on. It took a few minutes to boot up and while it did, he collapsed into the chair and let his mind drift. The house was unnaturally quiet – the twins were staying over at a friend's place and Zoe was working late. He was kind of grateful for the silence. It gave him space to think.

When the computer had finally loaded, he busied himself reading a few online newspapers. He checked through old articles, looking for anything even remotely related to the Hunt trial. It took him a few minutes, but he finally found something. Hunt had gotten off because some junior detective had put the wrong date on a couple of documents and a couple of pieces of evidence had disappeared. His blood boiled as he read that. His crew had let him down when it counted the most, it seemed.

Trying to calm himself down, he opened his emails and flicked through them. There were a few unread messages in the inbox – jokes, mostly. And a couple of from some spammer claiming to be a lawyer and asking for his credit card details. But there was another email that caught his eye. It was the sender's name that puzzled him the most – Raymond Hunt. Beginning to tremble with rage, he opened it.

The message was simple and made Nick's heart stop momentarily in his chest: 'I wonder what the Foxy Detective would be like'.

It was nearly a minute before Nick could breathe again. When he could, he leapt for the phone, dialling Amy's mobile number. It rang out the first time, directing him to leave a message in her voice mail. The second time, an electronic voice told him it was switched off or out of range. He then rang PJ's.

It was a few seconds before PJ answered. "Nick? What's going on?" he asked, chuckling a little. It was clear that PJ didn't understand the seriousness of the situation. "You feeling lonely without Zo?"

"Where's Amy?"

Confusion sounded in PJ's voice. "What do you mean?" he queried, freezing as he stood next to his car door. He had been about to head back to the station.

Nick drew in a deep breath to keep himself calm. "Just tell me where she bloody is!"

"She was heading to the Imperial to pick up some dinner," PJ explained as his grip tightened a little on the phone. "What's going on, Nick? What's wrong?"

Nick didn't answer. He'd already hung up the phone and was racing out the door. He could only pray that he wasn't too late.

* * *

Nick pulled up in the Imperial Hotel car park. He couldn't see any sign of Amy's silver Vee Dub Beetle. He closed his eyes, desperately hoping beyond hope that he hadn't got hold of Amy. He'd never been able to stop Hunt from killing someone before and he wasn't sure that he could stop him before he killed Amy. He certainly wasn't sure he could stop him before he raped her.

He climbed out of the car and nearly slipped over on something. As he regained his balance, he realised what it was he had slipped on. He crouched down and picked up the dirty coat. It was Amy's without a doubt. For a moment, his heart stopped in his chest.

When it started again, he raced into the Imperial's public bar, scanning it desperately for Amy. Some part of him was praying that she was there, perhaps having escaped Hunt's attempt to abduct her. Maybe he'd failed and taken off in her car, dumping her coat out onto the street before he'd left.

There was no sign of Amy.

Chris looked up at Nick, grinning warmly until she noticed the panic written into his features. "Is something wrong?" she asked as she hurried around to his side of the bar.

"Have you seen Amy?" he managed to ask. She shook her head in reply, but he took off again before she got a chance to speak.

His heart was pounding as he headed back out into the night. He didn't come back to earth again until he heard something splash a little beneath his foot. Looking down, it was some kind of puddle that he'd stepped in, little droplets of it covering his boots. He didn't notice how dark the liquid was by the poor lighting outside the pub. He didn't think anything of it until he noticed a long, thin object lying beside it.

Crouching down, he inspected it thoughtfully. It was an ASP – Amy's ASP. He turned it over in his hands as he stared at it. It was extended – she'd clearly been ready to use it.

Closer to the ground, he could now smell the liquid he'd stepped in. Tentatively, he dabbed his fingertips in it and sniffed them. It was blood. It was still wet – it couldn't have been there long.

Rising to his feet, he let an agonised groan leave his lips. He hadn't been able to stop Hunt. Now he was having his second innings – and Amy was going to be his first victim.

* * *

When PJ arrived at the pub, his heart was pounding away in his chest. The first thing he fixated on was Nick and he leapt upon him as he grabbed his shirt. "This is all your bloody fault!" he snapped.

Ringo and Dash grabbed PJ, trying their best to pull him away. It took them a few seconds to overpower the detective, finally, managing to force him to relinquish his grip on Nick.

PJ walked away from his old friend, running a hand back across his head as he let his gaze travel to where Mark was standing. He was standing next to the small pool of blood and the ASP. A lump formed in PJ's throat as he looked down at it.

Mark placed a reassuring and sympathetic hand on PJ's shoulder. "We'll find her, mate," he told him.

Raising his eyes to look at Nick, PJ shook his head slightly. "Knowing Raymond Hunt, I can't believe that," he mumbled.

* * *

The mood was low when the officers returned to the station. PJ didn't stop to talk to anyone, instead making a beeline for his office. Nick also resisted all attempts to make conversation, barricading himself in the mess room instead. Sighing, Mark looked to Dash and Ringo. "I'm going to get onto the Inspector," he explained. "We're going to need reinforcements from St. Davids." He looked over to PJ as his eyes narrowed. "We don't have a lot of time on our hands here."

Ringo finally piped up. "I'll go talk to the Sarge," he offered. "He might have a copy of the email Hunt sent him."

Mark nodded and Ringo slipped away to the mess room. Dash mumbled quietly under her breath. "That'll be his funeral."

"Maybe you should go talk to PJ," Mark mumbled as he continued to watch the detective. PJ was now pacing, shouting something indistinguishable, but clearly angry. "Someone's going to have to calm him down before he takes Nick's – or someone else's – head off."

Dash nodded as she crossed the muster room to the CI office and invited herself inside. PJ had stopped shouting and was standing, transfixed by a photograph in his hands. It was at least fifteen years old and showed PJ and Nick at the Imperial. They'd clearly had too much to drink – Nick was brandishing a glass of beer and PJ had a Santa hat perched crookedly on his head – but they looked very happy. The way mates ought to look.

PJ spoke long before Dash had any idea of what she was going to say. "It was Nick's job to get Hunt," he mumbled. Suddenly, he became angry again, slamming the photo to the ground so that the frame smashed.

Dash flinched a little at the sound. "Everyone makes mistakes, PJ," she pointed out. "Even you, occasionally."

He looked to her so she could see the desperation in his eyes. "But my mistake isn't going to get Amy killed, is it?" he asked her quietly. "Even if, by some miracle, we get her back before Hunt kills her, what chance do we have of stopping him from raping her?" The anger passed through him again as he pounded his desk. "Stupid bloody Schultz!"

"It's tearing Nick up too, you know," she told him. "He's blaming himself."

PJ looked at her firmly. "So he ought to be," he grumbled. "He was the Homicide Detective Sergeant in charge of the Hunt case, not me, not Amy. It was his job to stop Hunt, to put him away. He didn't. Hunt got off on a technicality, because Nick and his crew were too incompetent to write a bloody court brief properly. It is his fault Hunt's still out there, his fault Hunt's got my wife."

Dash drew in a deep breath. "Look, PJ," she told him pointedly. "I'm not going to get involved in this kind of argument between two people who are supposed to be best friends. I'm Switzerland in this, alright – neutral territory."

"But if Nick had just…" PJ began, his voice becoming pleading as he realised Dash wasn't going to listen to anymore of his rants about Nick's supposed incompetence.

"Switzerland," she reminded him, staring at him pointedly. It had the desired effect. PJ was silenced and flopped down at his desk as he buried his face in his hands. Dash sat on the edge of his desk, momentarily massaging her temples. "There aren't that many places in Mt. Thomas he could take her," she mused. "And he's got her car – I mean, her Vee Dub doesn't exactly blend into a crowd…"

PJ looked up at her, feigning a smile. "I know what you're trying to do."

She shrugged. "So what am I trying to do?"

"You're trying to calm me down, keep me positive. Stop me from killing Nick with the nearest would-be weapon," he explained. He almost laughed. "And I appreciate the thought, Dash. I just don't think there's much positive thinking that can be done here." She looked away – she knew she'd been exposed. PJ reached out to squeeze her hand as he continued. "But, just for you, I'll keep Nick alive and unharmed. Alright?"

Dash knew PJ was trying to put up a façade, to pretend that he was coping. But she didn't bother arguing with him. There was no way she could win.

They hadn't noticed Ringo returning from the mess room until he knocked on the CI office door with Mark in tow. PJ called for him to enter and the door opened, exposing the large red mark on Ringo's cheek.

Dash's mouth dropped open. "Did Nick do that to you?" she asked, a little surprised. At Ringo's nod, she shook her head sadly and looked to Mark. "I told you it'd be his funeral, Boss."

Mark didn't answer. Instead, he offered PJ a sheet of paper. It was the email Hunt had sent Nick.

PJ leant back in his chair, staring at the email thoughtfully. He read it aloud twice before passing a hand across his eyes. It was confirming his worst fears. "He's abducted her to rape her," he mumbled.

Dash took the email from PJ's hands and read it through several times before a look of realisation passed across her face. "He sent this three hours ago," she explained as she offered it to Mark. She pointed at something in the email's header. "Hunt sent this at least three hours before Nick called PJ."

"So Hunt was planning this long before he grabbed Amy," Ringo mused, passing a hand back through his hair.

PJ intertwined his fingers behind his head. His eyes conveyed a sense of distraction. "Hunt was already planning this at the station," he mumbled. At the look of confusion on his colleagues' faces, he elaborated. "He asked Amy's name – she told him 'Fox' and he called her 'Foxy Detective'." Remembering the threat he'd made to Hunt as he'd led him out of the station, his head fell into his hands. "I should have known he was going to try this. I should have known what he was going to do."

Mark shook his head. "Hunt had never shown any interest in kidnapping, raping or murdering women in the past, PJ," he pointed out. "There was no reason to suspect that he'd suddenly make the jump from little girls to women – let alone police women."

Dash spoke up again. "Look, can someone please just tell me what's going on between Nick and this Raymond Hunt guy?" she asked. "I mean, I get that Hunt was abducting and murdering little girls, but I don't get why Nick's this personally involved."

PJ sighed as he remembered the conversation he'd had with Zoe just before Nick had called him. It almost seemed a lifetime away now. "Nick had just been accepted into Homicide when Hunt's first victim showed up," he explained. "Nick was able to narrow in on Hunt, but he couldn't prove conclusively that it was him. Hunt did it again a few months later and Nick got involved again. Then I guess it turned into more of a game for Hunt than anything else – you know, see how much he could get under Nick's skin."

"Bloody hell," Mark mumbled, shaking his head as he cringed. Now he thought about it, he could remember the newspaper stories. The articles about the heartache of parents burying their daughters. They'd always made him hug Freya a little closer at night. A half-glance at Dash told him that she was thinking the same thing.

PJ continued. "Nick became obsessed," he added. "Zoe told me how bad it got. He barely ate, he barely slept. In fact, the only time Nick really stopped thinking about the Hunt case was when he was up here investigating the bombing. The killings went on for years – until Hunt finally got too game. He abducted the daughter of one of Nick's colleagues."

Remembrance flashed across Dash's face. "I remember that," she explained. "It was only a few months before Nick and I came back to Mt. Thomas. The Erica Green kidnapping, right?"

PJ nodded. "Nick thought he finally had Hunt. He was finally able to charge him, thought the case was watertight." He sighed as he remembered what Zoe had said next. He could vividly remember the tears that had filled Zoe's eyes as she spoken. "But Nick basically just broke down. It was like he'd just shut down. Zoe said that he'd been about to quit the force when the Sergeant's job came up here. She convinced him to take the job, that Mt. Thomas was the last place he'd been happy as a copper."

Dash shook her head in disbelief. "Nick never said anything about that," she mumbled. "I remember when I saw him in the station the day I came back…he said that he came back to raise the twins in the country."

Realisation hit PJ hard too. "He never really explained why he was back, no matter how much I asked him," he mused. "I guess I can see why, now."

Mark nodded. After a few minute's silence, he finally spoke. "I'm going to go speak to the Inspector," he explained. "We're going to have to get a search organised. We'll need backup."

"Who is the Inspector?" PJ asked, suddenly realising that he hadn't thought to ask. The Inspector had been appointed while he and Amy had been away on their honeymoon and, since they'd been back, neither of them had really given it a thought.

A pained expression crossed Mark's face. "Martin Barnes," he replied. PJ cringed at the name.

Dash shook her head in confusion. "What is the problem with this guy?" she asked with a shrug.

"He filled in for Tom once a few years back," Mark explained. "He was just a Senior Sergeant then. I guess he was just next in line for a promotion." He sighed as he reflected on how unpleasant his coming phone call with Martin Barnes would be. "He's a bureaucratic nightmare – and that's coming from me."

* * *

Martin Barnes grumbled as he listened to Mark's explanation of what was going on. Once Mark had finished, Martin spoke in a tired and irritated voice. "Do you know what's happening in St. Davids right now, Senior Sergeant?"

Mark shook his head as he shifted the phone to his other ear. "Not really, sir," he replied tiredly.

Martin sat up straighter at his desk as his voice became more firm. "We've just had a major collision on the main street," he explained. "Five cars, four pedestrians. At least five fatalities. All my members are tied up with death notices, autopsies and the investigation. I don't have any members to spare."

"Sir, with all due respect…" Mark began, only to be interrupted by his superior.

"Never say 'with all due respect' to me," Martin told him firmly. "It's police code for 'I really couldn't give a damn about your opinion'." He sighed. "We're too busy here. Until this has been wrapped up, you're going to have to handle this on your own."

Mark went to argue further, only to change his mind when he saw Dash slipping into the office. He wrapped up the phone call quickly and looked to his younger colleague. "Yes, Dash?"

Dash's expression was one of concern. "We've got reports of a car burning on the outskirts of the National Park," she explained.

Mark sighed as he rolled his eyes. "Get the CFA onto it and we'll deal with it later…"

"I think we should look at this car now, Boss," she insisted. At Mark's puzzled stare, she continued. "It's a silver Volkswagen New Beetle with the registration FXD-750."

His eyes widened in recognition. "It's Amy's car."

* * *

The flames were out by the time PJ pulled the CI car to a stop on the outskirts of the National Park. He and Dash climbed out to greet the CFA captain who was coming up to meet them.

"Hello, PJ," Dan Ryder said as he pumped PJ's hand and nodded to Dash in acknowledgement. "It's been a while. You got any idea on who owns the car?"

PJ nodded. "It belongs to my wife," he explained. "She's been abducted."

"Oh," Dan's expression was blank as he took PJ's words in. "Sorry, mate. I hope you get her back."

"So do I," PJ mumbled as he headed over to the car. Dark smoke was still rising up against the cloudy night sky. The car was a write-off – basically just a shell. If they got Amy back, she was going to be devastated. She loved her little Vee Dub.

Dash inspected the car thoughtfully. "Do you have any idea how the fire started?"

Dan nodded. "The whole thing's been doused pretty thoroughly in petrol. It would have gone up pretty quickly. I'd say your arsonist's just flicked a match and left it to burn."

A lump suddenly rose in PJ's throat. "There's no one…" he began, only to stop when he realised that he couldn't even say it.

Much to his relief, Dan shook his head. "There isn't a body in there," he replied. "It's only the car."

"We'll get Forensics to have a good look at it," Dash explained as PJ wandered off, running a hand back across his head. "Hopefully they'll pick something up."

Dan nodded over to PJ as he replied. "I think your colleague's already worked out who's done this."

Dash nodded in agreement as she watched PJ. "Yeah," she mumbled. "I think he has."

As Dan went off to speak to some of his men, Dash joined PJ. The detective was now sitting down on the driver's seat of the CI car, his legs hanging out the side. His eyes were closed and his head rested in one hand while he held his open wallet in the other. From where she stood in front of him, she could see the wedding photograph. They looked so happy, she realised with a pang. PJ had pulled Amy close against his body and was kissing her neck while Amy laughed.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked.

PJ didn't open his eyes. "No, I'm not," he replied simply. He didn't move as he continued. "My wife is in the hands of a sadistic rapist and murderer. My chances of getting her back alive are slim – let alone unharmed." He sighed as he seemed to sink deeper into his depression. "The thing that gets me is that Hunt is only doing this to spite Nick. I was glad when Amy and Nick started forming their bond. Amy's been alone for so much of her life – seeing her close to people is a really good thing – but her bond with Nick is why Hunt took her. If she dies, it will be because of Nick."

Dash crouched down in front of him and squeezed his knee encouragingly. "Amy's strong," she reminded him. "She's capable of looking after herself. If anyone can survive Hunt, it's her. She wouldn't go without putting up a good fight."

He finally opened his eyes as he fixed her with an agonised and pleading stare. "He's got her gun, Dash," he pointed out. "How the hell is she supposed to fight a bullet?"

Dash went to reply, only to find that there was nothing else she could say. A roll of thunder echoed as she lowered her head sadly. PJ had a point. If Hunt wanted to kill Amy, then there wasn't going to be a lot that she or anyone else could do to stop him.

* * *

Mark and Ringo were hunched over a map of the National Park when PJ and Dash returned to the station. Mark looked up over the frames of his glasses as the two entered the muster room. "Did you get anything from the car?" he asked.

"It was Hunt," PJ answered simply. "I know it was Hunt."

Dash offered some more rational information. "Dan Ryder said that petrol was used as an accelerant," she explained. "The whole car was doused in it completely. It wouldn't have taken much to set it alight, probably just a match."

PJ stopped at the CI office door and looked back to his colleagues. "Hunt would have hidden outside the Imperial," he mused. "Amy must have realised there was someone around because she drew her ASP…he must have knocked her over the head, stuffed her in her car and left. He must have taken her somewhere before torching the car…"

"We need to concentrate on finding her," Mark explained as he tapped the map. "Now, the car was found here," he gestured to a pencil mark on the paper, "so we'll use that as our starting point. We're going to have to be smart in how we search. We don't have the numbers." At PJ's concern, Mark continued in the hope of reassuring him. "We'll find her. This team may be small, but it's full of the best coppers I've ever known. If anyone can find Amy, it's us."

PJ looked at him dismally. "I know," he told him. "But will it be dead or alive?"

* * *

Amy's head spun as she slowly began to come to. She tried to open her eyes, only to wince with the effort. The back of her head throbbed, matching her headache perfectly. It was several minutes before she could muster the strength to lift her head to take a look around.

She was lying on the floor in a shed of some sort. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging with the wind that was coming through the open window. It was howling outside and every now and again she heard a roll of thunder and saw a flash of lightning. The roof had to be made of tin – the rain was too loud for it to be hitting anything else.

Panic set in as she suddenly remembered what happened. She remembered the sound of footsteps behind her, drawing her ASP…then everything went blank. Whoever it was must have jumped her from behind.

She tried to move, only to find that her right wrist had been handcuffed to a steel pole that appeared to be supporting the ceiling. She tried to pull at it before realising that escape was impossible.

Dragging herself up to sitting, she reached down to where her belt should have been. It wasn't there. She closed her eyes tightly as she groaned inwardly.

She jumped at the sound of a door opening and closing. Hunt was whistling as he came into view. He grinned as he set the empty petrol can on the floor near the open window. "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," he teased.

Her breath began to come in shaky gasps and her heart pounded in her chest. She tried to crawl away from him, only for the handcuffs to stop her. All she could do was crawl around the pole in a circle. She finally stopped, fixing him with her best defensive death glare as she brought her knees up to her chest. "Please," she managed to beg out weakly. "Please don't hurt me. Please…you don't have to do this."

Even as she spoke, she knew that Hunt wasn't listening. He was approaching her, his eyes wide with pleasure as he grabbed her legs roughly, pushing them apart as he crawled on top of her.

For a moment, she couldn't breathe. Terror was flashing through her mind. Finally, her fight response kicked in and she tried to push Hunt off with her left hand.

He was stronger than her and could have overwhelmed her easily, but he didn't. Instead, he pulled away, looking angry. He punched her cheek, causing her to cry out in pain. She had barely registered what had happened when he hit her again and again. Once he got bored with punches, he climbed off her and began kicking her in the chest and abdomen.

Curled up on the floor, her eyes pressed closed tightly as she tried to ignore the pain running through her body, Amy began to cry. She wasn't ready to die now and certainly not like this.

After what felt like hours, Hunt finally stopped kicking. She'd stopped counting the cracks after a while, but judging by the amount of pain breathing caused, she guessed she had a few broken ribs. It was a couple of minutes before Amy could bring herself to open her eyes and roll onto her back to see what Hunt was doing.

He was in a corner of the shed, his back turned to her as he wrestled with her gun belt. He was trying to get her gun free.

Panic raced through her as she pulled herself up to sitting, suddenly not bothered by the pain Hunt's beating had caused. She was no sooner sitting than Hunt had rounded on her, his hand trembling with anger as he aimed the gun at her.

She shook her head pleading as the tears flowed freely down her face. "Please," she sobbed. "Please don't kill me. Please don't shoot. Please…"

But no matter how much she begged, Hunt didn't seem to notice until, finally, her pleas were silenced by three gunshots and a crack of lightning beyond the shed.

* * *

It was nearly daybreak when Nick finally re-entered the muster room. He'd spent the night in the cell pretending to sleep while Mark maintained almost constant contact with PJ, Dash and Ringo. Several times, he'd considered going out to offer his assistance, only to change his mind. He was doing what he'd done the last time he'd dealt with Hunt – he was beginning to suffer a breakdown.

Mark was dozing at Dash's desk in the muster room, using her pile of uncompleted paperwork as a makeshift pillow. He awoke at Nick's entrance, yawning as he tried to wake himself up. "Morning," he mumbled tiredly.

Nick nodded in acknowledgement. It was several seconds before he could bring himself to speak. "Any news?"

"Amy's car was found burnt to a crisp on the outskirts of the National Park," Mark explained. "PJ, Dash and Ringo are searching. I'm going to have to call them back in soon, though. They'll be passing out from exhaustion and hunger within a couple of hours."

"No word on Amy?"

Mark shook his head. "There's been no trace of Hunt or Amy so far. That could be good news, Nick. If he's still got her, then she's probably still alive."

"If she's alive, then she's probably going through something almost worse than death," Nick mumbled as he sat down at his desk and buried his face in his hands. "If Hunt does to her what he did to his other victims, then death would almost be kind by the end of it."

Mark sighed thoughtfully. "But then there's no hope, is there?" he asked. "Where there's life, there's hope."

Nick frowned as he considered Mark's words. He didn't want Amy to be dead, but he didn't want her to suffer either. "Maybe you're right," he mused.

It was a few minutes before Mark spoke again. "You really are close to Amy, aren't you?" he queried.

Nick considered Mark's question before nodding. "I don't know how it happened, either," he explained. "I guess…it was after PJ was shot. Something happened that night and…" He shrugged sadly. "I don't really know what it is. I just know that I care about her very deeply and don't want to lose her. I don't want her to suffer anymore than she already has."

He knew Mark didn't understand exactly what he meant. But Mark must have understood at least some of it, because he nodded slowly in agreement.

"We can't give up yet though," Mark reminded him. "Everyone else can give up, but I won't and I'll bet PJ won't either. I won't believe Amy Fox is dead until I see her body laid out on a slab in front of me. Until then, I'm going to believe that she's alive and that we have a fighting chance of getting her back."

Their conversation was interrupted when the phone rang on the desk in front of Nick. He grabbed it, raising it to his ear tiredly. "Mt. Thomas Police Station, Sergeant Schultz speaking…Dan Ryder?" At the mention of the CFA captain's name, Mark looked up in interest. When Nick finally finished and hung up the phone, he explained what the call had been about. "Charlie Clarke's shed has just burnt to the ground," Nick explained. "It looks like we've found Hunt's killing house."

* * *

The rain was getting heavier when PJ arrived at the shed. Charlie Clarke was arguing with Dan Ryder – apparently wanting to know when everyone would be off his property. But, upon seeing the dark, depressed look on PJ's face, Charlie stopped dead. He approached the detective. "I've heard about your wife," he explained. "I'm sorry…"

PJ feigned a smile for Charlie's sake before approaching the shed. There was basically nothing left standing – just a few metal posts that had been supporting the ceiling.

Dan approached him from behind. "I'd say this is connected to the car," he told him. "It's petrol that's been used in both cases. And, don't worry, there's no body here either."

PJ frowned as he tried to put the pieces together in his head. He'd already worked out that Charlie's shed had been used by Hunt as his killing place. He had also worked out that his chances of getting Amy back were significantly lower now.

"There is something that you should have a look at though," Dan continued and gestured for PJ to follow him into the ruins of the shed. They stopped at one of the poles and Dan pointed to some twisted metal sitting on the ground. "They look like handcuffs to me." PJ nodded in affirmation and Dan led him over to a corner of the room, where what looked like a charred leather belt was lying. He was sure he could make out the remains of a radio there as well.

"That'd be Amy's gun belt," PJ mused as he crouched down and sifted through the remains. There was only one object still unaccounted for – her gun.

As Dan led him away, he spoke again. "This guy must be spooked," he commented. At PJ's look of bewilderment, he continued. "He's burning every trace of what's he's doing. He must know you're on his tail."

PJ nodded and began to walk away. As he studied the area around in the hopes of finding some footprints or tyre tracks, he found himself mumbling bitterly under his breath. "If Hunt thinks he's spooked now, he won't know what hit him when I get hold of him."

He suddenly stopped when he noticed something dark in a small bush several metres away. He drew in a deep breath to steady himself as he headed over there and retrieved it. It was a dark high-heeled shoe – Amy's shoe. There was some drag marks too, mixed in with dark patches that PJ recognised as blood.

Suddenly his blood ran cold. It took everything he had to hold himself together as he rose to his feet and followed the drag marks. He didn't call any of the CFA guys over to join him and he certainly didn't call Mark at the station. He had a sickening feeling about what the drag marks were leading to and, if he was to find Amy's body, he didn't want a crowd.

The marks went on for several minutes before finally disappearing into some shrubbery. PJ had been about to dig through them when he saw the scrap of white paper lying on the ground at his feet. He picked it up and opened it, only to find his blood boiling at the message: 'Nice work in tailing me, Hasham. Better luck finding her body'.

The anger gave way to grief and he collapsed against a nearby tree, sobs finally overwhelming his tired body and mind. Hunt had said the one word he couldn't handle hearing – body. His heart felt as though it was being ripped out of his chest as his last hopes died away. He could taste his tears as he managed to gasp out of her name in an agonised voice. "Amy!"

_I didn't get to say goodbye  
__The day before the day_

* * *

PJ was on autopilot as he returned to the station. He wasn't really aware of anything he was doing. In hindsight, driving in that state wasn't the safest thing he'd ever done, but he wasn't thinking of that at the time. The choking sobs had died away, but the tears hadn't. They still ran down his cheeks. He didn't bother to try mopping them away.

Pulling the car to a stop in the station car park, he pulled his keys out of the ignition, only to be stopped by the photo key ring. It was another copy of the wedding photo. The sobs nearly started anew as he focused on Amy's beaming, laughing face. She was so happy. After everything she'd been through as a child, in Homicide, she was finally happy. It was too much for him to consider the cruelty of Hunt taking her just as she had found everything she'd ever wanted.

He traced her cheekbone before raising the key ring to his lips and kissing the miniature version of her face. Lowering it, he forced a teary smile. "You're safe now," he promised her in a choking voice. "Nothing can hurt you now."

It was several minutes before he could tear himself away from the photo and climb out of the car. It was several minutes more before he could enter the station. When he finally did enter the muster room, Mark was the only one there. When he saw PJ's dark look, he wrapped up his message to Dash and climbed to his feet in concern.

As he crossed the floor to PJ, he tried to dare himself to speak. The look of PJ's face was unmistakable. There was only one thing on this earth that could make PJ look that agonised. "What happened?" he asked.

PJ tried to speak, but found that words failed him. Instead, he pulled Hunt's note out of his pocket and offered it to Mark. As Mark read it, PJ finally managed to choke out a reply. "He sent me on a wild goose chase trying to find her," he explained. "He called my Amy a 'body'. He's killed her. He's bloody killed her."

Mark finally sat the note aside and watched as PJ headed off to the CI office. He'd never seen someone as big a mess as PJ was – at least not since Susie had died in Alex's arms well over a year ago. He finally called out after him. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked gently.

PJ stopped and slowly turned back to Mark. Behind the heartbreak, there was a distinctive anger. "There is," he mumbled. "You can make sure that I don't end up alone in a room with Hunt because I might just break the bastard's bloody neck."

With that, he stormed into the CI office, slamming the door behind him and slumping down behind his desk as the sobs overwhelmed him again. Mark watched him for a few minutes before turning to the corridor leading towards the mess room. Nick was emerging, the bags under his eyes becoming more obvious.

Mark hadn't realised that he'd been crying until Nick spoke up. "Boss," he began, shaking his head in confusion. "What happened?"

Mark didn't need to answer. PJ did it for him. In the CI office, he began sobbing louder, pounding his desk in his grief. Realisation struck Nick and he nearly toppled back against the nearest wall. He swore under his breath as Mark finally answered him.

"It looks like Hunt might have killed Amy," he replied. He was surprised to find that his voice was wobbling as he spoke. "Charlie Clarke's shed was burnt down – the same MO as Amy's car – and it looks like that's where Hunt had Amy. PJ found some drag marks and blood leading to this note…" At this, Mark picked up the scrap of paper and offered it to Nick. "PJ was led on a wild goose chase. Nick…Hunt calls Amy a 'body'."

Nick felt his eyes prick with tears and he massaged his temples as he tried to hold it together. He handed the note back to Mark as he headed back to the mess room. He didn't speak until he was in the mess room, looking at the spot where, nearly a year ago, he had watched PJ propose to Amy. He shook his head as he rounded back on Mark. "Didn't you say that you wouldn't believe she was dead until you saw her laid out on a slab?" he asked.

Mark nodded slowly. "I did," he began, "but this is pretty conclusive, Nick. If there's blood, then Amy's probably bleeding. You said it yourself that Hunt probably would have killed her by now."

Nick opened his mouth to speak, only for words to fail him. Tears began sliding down his cheeks as he flopped back against the door frame. "I kept trying to prepare everyone for the worst case scenario," he mumbled. "But I…I forgot to give myself the same advice." He buried his face in his hand as he continued. "PJ was right. I did this. Hunt was my responsibility. Now Amy…"

Mark gently reached out to squeeze Nick's arm. He could tell that the Sergeant was beginning to tremble. He could also tell that, if PJ was to see Nick, he'd potentially have another murder on his hands. "Why don't you go to the pub?" he suggested. At Nick's blank stare, he clarified himself. "Chris and Amy were friends. This will be all over town within half an hour if anyone else happens to see the drag marks and blood. Chris deserves better than to find out about this via gossip."

Nick nodded slowly in agreement as he moved away, running a hand back through his hair as he headed for the car park. Passing by the CI office door, he paused for a moment. From behind the door, he could hear PJ speaking. It sounded like he was talking to Amy – or at least a photograph of her. He stopped to listen as he held back his own sobs.

"It'll be okay now, Amez. Wherever you are. You're safe. You don't have to worry anymore. I'll find justice for you. It's over now. All the pain's over."

As PJ broke down into sobs, Nick moved on. He had barely gotten out into the car park when the sobs consumed him whole. Inwardly, he found himself vowing to get Hunt this time. There was no way he would escape the law now.

* * *

Chris was busy eating breakfast when Nick knocked on the door. She rolled her eyes as she gulped down a mouthful of Vegemite toast. "We're not open yet!" she called out. When Nick knocked again, she became increasingly irritated. "Don't you bastards read? We're closed!"

"Chris?" Nick called, his voice nearly breaking. "It's Nick. Can you let me in?"

Chris jumped to her feet and let Nick into the public bar. She didn't focus much on his face as she headed back to her breakfast. "Have you found Amy yet?" she asked as she swallowed down another mouthful.

Nick watched her, a little uncertain of how he was going to break this to her. "Not yet."

"You'll find her," she reassured him. "I know you guys. It'll be alright…" She trailed off as she sudden noticed the look on Nick's face. It didn't take her long to work out why he was there. "Oh God, no," she gasped, her hand flying to her face.

Nick nodded slowly. "We've found blood and a note from the kidnapper," he explained. "He says Amy's dead."

Tears began to fill Chris' eyes. It was a moment before she could speak. "You haven't found her body yet," she pointed out.

Nick nodded. "We haven't," he admitted, "but he says he's killed her. Even if she did survive him, she's hurt. Badly. It's been bloody cold overnight and it's been raining on and off. I don't think there's much cause for optimism."

Chris went to argue again, only to register the grief in Nick's eyes. Instead, she fell into his chest, offering him a warm hug. They stayed that way for several minutes before finally Chris pulled away, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. "Someone has to find her body," she whispered. "She deserves that much, at least. It's going to start storming again soon and she shouldn't be out there in that. If there's anything I can do for Amy, it's find her body."

Nick sighed as he sat down on a bar stool. "I don't know where to start, Chris," he told her sadly. "I know Hunt. He'll have left her somewhere that he'll know only I will look. This is about hurting me. Amy will be somewhere where I'll think to look…" He trailed off as a thought struck him hard. "Govett's Leap."

Chris looked up at him slowly. "What?"

"Govett's Leap," he repeated as he headed out towards the car park. "She'll be there."

Chris watched him go, only to call out after him seconds later. "I'm coming!" At Nick's blank expression, she explained herself. "I care about Amy – probably more than I've ever showed her. She cared about me…she made me maid of honour at her wedding. This is something I can do. Let me come."

Nick was reluctant, but he nodded in agreement. "Okay," he agreed and beckoned for her to follow.

* * *

The drive out to Govett's Leap was a silent one. Neither Chris nor Nick dared themselves to speak. Both of them were simply too shocked to do much of anything. It wasn't until Nick pulled his car to a stop at the top of Govett's Leap that he spoke to Chris. "You can stay here, you know."

She nodded. "I know," she replied. "But I don't want to. I want to come."

Nick nodded and climbed out of the car. He slowly approached the edge and peered down. Sure enough, lying partially obscured by shrubs and mud was Amy. She was lying on her side in a pool of her own blood. All Nick could see of her was her back and the blood-matted hair that covered her face. Judging by the patches of blood on the face of Govett's Leap, she'd been rolled down there.

From behind him, he heard Chris' shocked gasp. He tried not to think about it as he climbed to the bottom. He nearly lost his footing a few times in the mud, but made it down there in one piece. He raced over to Amy, gently holding her by the shoulders and rolling her over onto her back. She'd taken three bullets to the chest and abdomen and all three wounds were surrounded by large patches of blood. She'd suffered a couple of head wounds as well and had a nasty bruise on her cheek. She'd clearly been out during at least some of the rain – her clothes were soaking and clung to her body tightly.

He gently brushed her hair back from her face as he checked for a pulse. Suddenly, his heart stopped. "Oh my…Amy…Amy, can you hear me?"

From the top, Chris could hear Nick's increasing excitement. She climbed down to join him. "Nick?"

"She's alive," he mumbled, in shock as he checked her pulse again. He motioned over to her. "Call an ambulance, call a bloody ambulance."

Chris nodded and moved away to ring an ambulance on her mobile. While Chris did that, Nick slipped his jacket off and wrapped it around Amy gently. She was cold, pale and probably suffering from internal bleeding, but she was alive. Tears of relief ran down his cheeks as he pulled Amy closer to his body to try to warm her up.

"It'll be okay now," he told her, even though he wasn't quite sure if she could hear him. "You're safe."

* * *

Adam was standing alone at the nurse's desk when he heard the doors open and saw two ambulance officers wheeling someone by on a gurney. It didn't take him long to recognise the woman on the bed, covered in blood and thick bandages and a hard collar on her neck. "Amy?" he mumbled. At the sight of Nick and Chris following, he called over his shoulder. "Zoe!"

Zoe appeared to join him. Her mouth dropped open as she raced over.

The ambulance officers spoke before she got a chance to ask. "Amy Fox, thirty-four, gun shot wounds to the chest and abdomen," one of them barked. "There's definite internal bleeding and probable hypothermia. Her blood pressure's dangerously low."

Zoe and Adam helped wheel her through to the resus cubicle. Nick slipped in after them, while Chris remained outside with tear-filled eyes. Nick watched silently as they placed a drip on the top of her left hand and poked and prodded her. A nurse seemed to appear from nowhere with a bag of blood that he attached to the IV in her hand.

No sooner had the medical staff managed to get the machines attached than an alarm sounded. Nick felt his heart rate rise as he watched a sudden urgency go through Zoe.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "What's happening?"

When Zoe didn't answer – she was too busy getting the defibrillator set up – Adam replied. "She's crashing."

"Why?" Nick asked, approaching Amy a little in defence as one of the nurses ripped what was left of Amy's white shirt away and placed two coloured pads on her chest.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Adam explained. "She's probably suffering from hypothermia. Her heart doesn't have enough to pump and she's too badly injured to maintain her own airway."

Nick looked at him pleadingly, his eyes wide with panic. "Well, fix it!" he demanded. "You've got to keep her breathing!"

Zoe finally spoke. Her face was livid as she rounded on Nick. "Get out of the way, Nick and let us do our jobs!" she snapped. "She's in this mess because of you, so for God's sake give me a chance to save her!"

Zoe's words hit home. Nick felt his heart stop momentarily as he saw the look in her eyes. She felt the same way PJ did. She believed that Amy was lying there, possibly dying, because of his incompetence. Nodding slowly, he slipped away. He didn't speak to Chris. He couldn't. He wouldn't have known what to say.

He stopped a couple of metres away, so he was just close enough to hear what the medical staff were saying. He could hear them trying to get some units of blood down there, hear them trying to make sure the operating theatre was free. But he didn't hear them say that it was going to be okay, and that was what made him keep walking towards his car and drive back to the police station.

* * *

By the time he'd returned to the station, PJ had already left for the hospital. Mark was the only one there. The Senior Sergeant looked worn out and drained, but distinctly brighter. It seemed that finding Amy alive had given him some of his hope back.

"How is she?" Mark asked, passing a hand across his weary eyes as Nick flopped down at his computer.

"Three gunshot wounds," Nick answered simply. "Definite internal bleeding, probably hypothermia too. Not to mention multiple broken ribs and head injuries."

Mark looked away, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Out of the melting pot and into the fire," he grumbled. Nick didn't bother asking him what he meant. It didn't really matter to him and a part of him understood. Just because they'd got Amy back alive didn't mean she was going to stay that way. Mark finally looked up at his Sergeant. "So were there any indications of where Hunt might have gone?"

"I really wasn't looking for any," Nick mumbled in response. "I was a little preoccupied with Amy."

Mark nodded in understanding. "Dash and Ringo are out there now," he explained. "Hopefully they'll find some kind of trail." At the dark look in Nick's eyes, he tried to lift the tone of his voice. "You and Chris did well. You found Amy, you got her medical treatment. She's got a fighting chance because of you."

Nick didn't really reply. He was trying to distract himself with some inane computer game that the twins had installed. "Maybe," he mumbled.

Realising that he wasn't going to get much of an answer out of Nick, Mark stretched himself out and headed for his office. It was time to have it out with Inspector Barnes again.

As he watched Mark go, Nick felt his heart lurch heavily in his chest. It was not only Amy's predicament that weighed on his mind. It was what Zoe had said, the look in her eyes. She'd blamed him. Just like PJ, she'd blamed him for what Raymond Hunt had done. And she was scared. Zoe had done well to hide it, but truth be told she was frightened. Now Hunt had gone after Amy, there was nothing stopping him from going after her. Or the boys.

* * *

Martin Barnes seemed almost concerned when Mark explained what had happened since they'd last spoken. "Is Senior Detective Fox going to be okay?" he asked quietly.

Sitting back in his chair, Mark nearly had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from asking Martin whether he really cared. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and kept a civil tongue in his head. "It's too early to tell," he replied. "Senior Detective Hasham is at the hospital. If there are any developments, I'm sure he'll let me know."

"He's her husband, right?" Martin clarified, his tone verging on uncertainty.

Mark rolled his eyes. Martin really had been out of the loop. "Yeah, he's her husband."

Martin climbed to his feet and pulled his police jacket around his considerable figure. "I'm on my way over now," he told him.

"Are any reinforcements coming along with you?"

Martin sighed. "I explained that to you, Senior Sergeant," he answered in a cool voice. "All my officers are busy. I, however, am not, so I'll heading over to Mt. Thomas now. I can help coordinate resources."

"What? Probationary Constable Barnett and Senior Constable McKinley?" Mark asked bitterly. Almost as soon as he'd spoken, he wished he hadn't. He'd never been that rude to a superior officer before. He began to apologise. "Look, Sir, I'm sor…"

Martin sighed again. "Jacobs – never apologise for speaking your mind. Just don't use weasel words to pretend that you aren't. I'll be there as soon as possible. Hold the fort until then."

As Martin hung up without a goodbye, Mark set the receiver back in its cradle. A kind of protective anger was welling inside of him. He just didn't get the feeling that Martin Barnes had quite the concern for his officers that he did.

* * *

The situation hadn't changed by the time Martin Barnes arrived at the police station. Nick had locked himself in the mess room again, Dash and Ringo were attempting to search, PJ was still waiting at the hospital and Mark was still sitting in his office, racking his brains for a solution to the problem. It had been a long time since he'd felt so out of his depth that he'd wanted nothing more than Tom Croydon to come back to fix everything. But now he did.

Martin invited himself into Mark's office without knocking. "Jacobs?"

Mark cringed. He'd forgotten Martin's habit of calling people by their surnames. "Inspector."

He'd also forgotten how imposing Martin could look. He wasn't particularly tall – in fact, he was a little shorter than Amy – but he was solidly built with a spare tire around the middle and a head that had long gone bald. His blue eyes were stern and demanded authority and even the confident way he walked demanded attention.

"I assume there have been no developments," Martin said as he sat down opposite Mark.

Mark shook his head. "Nick's shutting down emotionally, even if he won't admit it," he explained. "PJ is too overwhelmed with grief to be of any use. Not to mention Dash and Ringo, who are eligible for more overtime than either of us have had hot dinners."

Martin nodded slowly. He motioned to the map folded up on the corner of Mark's desk. "Where are they searching?"

Mark unrolled the map and pointed to a spot on the paper. "Govett's Leap," he explained. "It's the make out spot of Mt. Thomas teens past and present. Nick and Chris found Amy lying at the bottom. She'd probably been out there for half the night."

Martin looked confused. "Chris?" he queried.

"Chris Riley," Mark replied simply. Even as he said her name, he felt his heart skip a beat. The thoughts he'd had about Chris at Amy and PJ's wedding hadn't gone away. Something about her had attracted him and now refused to turn him loose. "She's a local publican. She runs the copper's pub – the Imperial Hotel…"

Martin waved him off. He wasn't that interested in knowing Chris' life story. "So how did Schultz know to go out there and why on earth did he take this Riley woman with him?"

Mark shrugged. "Nick knows Hunt. He knows this town even better. I suppose he knows the sort of place Hunt leaves his victims by now."

"Still doesn't explain why a civilian was taken out there," Martin pointed out.

Mark shrugged again. "As far as I'm aware, Nick and Chris originally went out there with the intention of finding Amy's body. They didn't expect to find her alive."

"They very nearly didn't, either," Martin reminded him. "Another half hour or so and Fox would have died out there from what you told me."

Mark nodded slowly. He didn't need reminding. He'd already gone through it a hundred times in his head without Martin Barnes' intervention.

Without another word, Martin climbed to his feet. "I want to take a look at this Govett's Leap for myself," he explained.

Mark climbed to his feet automatically. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Martin shook his head. "I prefer being on my own, thanks all the same Jacobs," he replied curtly and slipped away, neglecting to close the door behind him.

* * *

Martin had been gone for nearly half an hour when Nick finally emerged from the mess room. Mark was on the radio to Dash. Apparently Ringo had found what appeared to be promising foot prints leading south from Govett's Leap. They didn't lead very far though – only a couple of metres before tapering off into scrub. It was going to be next to useless, but it was the only lead they had.

Nick half-listened to the radio conversation as he logged onto his email. It was more out of fear than anything else. Hunt's last warning had come via email and he'd checked it three hours too late to save Amy. He was going to be damned before he let the same thing happen to Zoe or his sons.

There were no new messages and he was about to log out when he noticed that he was receiving something. It was taking forever to download though. It had to be more than a message.

It was a few minutes before the slow station connection managed to load the email. It was another one from Hunt. Nick's blood ran cold as he read Hunt's name on his screen. Somehow, he got the feeling that throwing Hunt up against a locker would be the least of what would happen the next time they were alone in a room together.

As he opened the message, he saw that Hunt had sent him a video in the email. He tossed up whether or not to alert Mark before changing his mind and grabbing a set of ear phones before playing the video.

Hunt came on screen as he hit play. He was in a small room of some sort and sitting on some sort of dark counter. The place looked disused and even Hunt's slightest movements brought up clouds of dust.

"Hello, Schultz," Hunt said, a sickening kind of smile creeping across his face. "I'm sure you would have found the Foxy Detective by now. I had a lot of fun playing with her. Hopefully that hubby of hers isn't too inconsolable."

Nick had to bite his tongue hard to stop himself from shouting something very rude at the computer screen. As it was, he wanted nothing more than to put his fist through the monitor.

"You know something, Schultz?" Hunt continued with a grin. "I've always thought that wife of yours was a pretty sort. Nice eyes. Beautiful hair…"

Nick stopped the video. He couldn't watch Hunt's threat anymore. He had decided on his next victim and it was going to be Zoe. He restarted the video and watched it again, this time focusing on the background. The only way to stop Hunt from hurting Zoe was by working out where he was.

He had to watch the video three times before it clicked. When it did, he leapt to his feet and disappeared out to his car before Mark got the chance to stop him. Realising that Nick had seen something on his computer, Mark sat down and watched the video. He cringed at Hunt's comments about Zoe. He could now see what had set Nick off, but he still couldn't work out where Hunt was.

That was, until he saw the posters on the wall, around the corner, behind where Hunt was sitting. As he grabbed his mobile, he knew exactly where Hunt was and exactly who was going to be able to stop Nick from getting himself killed.

* * *

PJ was sitting in the 'quiet room' of the hospital when his mobile began belting out its INXS ring tone. Adam had taken him there after Amy had been taken to theatre. Zoe had given him a minute to see his pale, unconscious, intubated wife before she'd been wheeled away. Everyone had promised to do their best to save Amy's life. PJ had thanked them. Then Adam had led him away to the 'quiet room' that PJ knew was usually reserved for the relatives and friends of the dying and the dead.

It took him a moment to realise his phone was ringing. He wasn't really with it as he fumbled through his jacket pockets for it. He'd been remembering the last time he'd seen Amy before she'd been taken. They'd been arguing. Amy had been defending Nick. But he hadn't let her leave without smoothing things over because of some piece of advice his mother had given him years before.

When he finally pulled his phone free, he could see Mark's name on screen. For a moment, he considered letting it ring, but changed his mind. There was a chance it was important.

"Boss?" he grumbled, raising the phone to his ear. "What's happened?"

Mark sighed as he ran a hand back through his hair. "Nick's gone after Hunt."

PJ shook his head in confusion. "How does he even know where to start looking?" he asked shortly. He didn't mean to lose his temper with Mark. He knew it wasn't Mark's fault. He even knew it wasn't Nick's fault. But he was tired and stressed and worried and he couldn't stop his emotions coming out through his voice.

"Hunt sent him another email," Mark explained. "It was a video this time. Hunt threatened to take Zoe."

PJ cringed. Not Zoe. "So where does Nick think he's going?"

"Hunt's at the Widgeree Police Station," Mark explained. "I saw the old police posters on the wall in the video. Hunt's there and Nick's on his way out there."

PJ shrugged. "And what am I supposed to do about it?"

Mark tried to speak, but words failed him. It was nearly a whole minute before he could explain. "Look, PJ – there are three people who can get through to Nick when he gets like this. One is his wife, one is Amy and the other one is you."

"I can't leave the hospital now," PJ mumbled weakly. His resistance was weakening. "Amy's just been taken to theatre. I've got to be here in case something happens…"

"I'll get Chris to go over there and stay there until you get back," Mark promised. "Just…please stop Nick from getting himself killed. If you leave now, you should be able to catch him on the highway."

PJ frowned as the last ounces of resistance ebbed away. He finally nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Just as long as Chris will be at the hospital."

* * *

Nick felt his temper rising as PJ's car appeared in his rear view mirror. His old mate was flashing his lights and honking his horn like crazy, trying to get him to pull over. Nick resisted for a few minutes before finally pulling his old station wagon to a stop underneath an old tree. PJ pulled in behind him and nearly leapt out of the car.

He wound down the window as PJ tapped on the glass. "What do you want?" he asked shortly.

"The Boss told me about the email," PJ explained as he leant in the window. "Hunt's at the Widgeree Police Station and planning on going after Zoe."

Nick rolled his eyes. He was getting the picture. "And I suppose the Boss wanted you to go talk some sense into me?" he asked pointedly. "Well, you can save your breath. Don't bother trying to stop me."

PJ had rounded the front of the car and was climbing into the passenger seat before Nick had worked out what was going on. "I'm not trying to stop you," PJ pointed out. "I'm coming with you."

Nick looked at him in confusion. For the first time, he noticed the look in PJ's eyes. It told him that PJ was ready and willing to do something desperate to stop this madness. "You're not going to do something really dumb and heroic are you, Patrick?"

PJ looked at him with tired eyes. "Do you know the thing about heroes, Nick?" he asked quietly. "Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he's someone who's sick and tired enough to not give a damn anymore. And you know something Nick? I really don't give a damn at the moment. The only thing I care about is that I nearly lost my wife. I still might lose her. For a time there, I was trying to work out what I had left to live for without her." He sighed as he met Nick's eyes. "So, you see, you're not the only one who's ready to make the last stand. So…are you driving or what?"

Nick was speechless. He was still speechless as he started the car and put his foot down hard on the accelerator. He felt a bit better now, knowing that he wasn't alone anymore. He supposed that his friendship with PJ was stronger than he'd thought. He just hoped that they were going to be able to walk out of the station in one piece.

* * *

The drive out to the Widgeree Police Station was silent. Neither PJ nor Nick had the mental energy required to speak to each other. The case had left them too drained. A lot had happened over the last twenty four hours – too much, in fact. All they wanted was for it to be over.

There was nothing overly suspicious about the station as Nick pulled his car to a stop in the driveway. Hunt obviously hadn't bothered to replace the car he'd stolen from Amy, because there was no sign of a vehicle parked nearby. There was just the police station, standing there, looking as abandoned as it had since Rochelle de la Rue had left late in 2004.

It was only once Nick had killed the engine and undone his seat belt that he spoke. "You don't have to do this, PJ," he pointed out. "You can take the car back to town, go back to the hospital. Hunt's my problem, my mistake. My fight. Not yours."

PJ looked at him pointedly. "Yeah, it is, Nick. It's my fight too. Hunt made it my fight when he dragged Amy into this. I'm going in there. It's the only way I can make Amy safe again."

Nick simply smiled at his old mate in thanks. He didn't quite know what to say. He didn't even know if there was something that he could say. So, offering PJ a smile of solidarity, the two climbed out of the car and, drawing their weapons, entered the police station.

The door had been left unlocked and swung open easily at Nick's touch. PJ and Nick waited in the doorway for a few seconds, listening out for the slightest noise. The station was silent. Inwardly, Nick began cursing. He just hoped that he wasn't too late and Hunt hadn't left yet to go after Zoe.

They split up – Nick searched out in the direction of the station's single cell, while PJ headed for the interview room. PJ kept his gun drawn as he entered the interview room. The small, dank little room had a stale smell about it. He wasn't surprised. The station had been shut now for longer than he cared to remember.

He made a sound of frustration at the empty room. He lowered his gun a little.

That was when he felt something hard and heavy collide with the back of his head.

PJ fell forward, loosing his grip on his gun in his shock. He slumped over the desk, winded. It was a moment before he could catch his breath, by which time Hunt had appeared in his vision and was taking possession of PJ's weapon. Watching as Hunt tucked his gun away; PJ felt his stomach drop heavily.

Hunt punched him, his fist colliding hard with PJ's cheek. The blow knocked him to the floor. PJ tentatively raised a hand to his bruise as Hunt stepped over him. "Sorry about killing your wife, mate," Hunt said with a cool shrug. "Just so you know, hurting you isn't what I'm really trying to do."

PJ grimaced. "You're trying to hurt Nick," he grumbled. "It's all a game to you and Amy was someone close to Nick that you could get at." His voice grew cold as he continued. Without his weapon, all he could try to do was talk Hunt out of it. "But this isn't a game. These are people's lives we're talking about." His words didn't seem to be having any effect on Hunt at all. "So – are you going to kill me too?"

Hunt kicked him in the side, causing PJ to groan a little in pain. He shrugged. "I wasn't going to – but I suppose I'm going to have to now, aren't I?" He almost seemed to sigh, PJ realised as he forced himself to meet Hunt's eyes. "You'll be with that wife of yours soon…"

Nick's voice suddenly seemed to come from nowhere. "I don't think so, Hunt."

Hunt turned, keeping his gun trained on PJ as he eyed Nick coolly. "What? You think you can shoot me before I can shoot Hasham here?" he asked with a grin.

"No," Nick replied simply. "Your 'Foxy Detective' isn't dead." Hunt looked angry at that news. Something seemed to flash through his eyes and the calm cruelty gave way to madness. Nick continued, a little pleased with the effect of his words. "You didn't kill her. Despite your best attempts, she's still alive."

Hunt gave PJ another kick. This one was harder than the last. It winded PJ and kept him silent for a few minutes while he recovered.

Nick continued, trying to keep himself under control and his gun steady. "But don't think that just because she survived, we're going to let you off easy. We've still got arson, assault, abduction, false imprisonment, attempted murder…and if you raped her, I'll make sure you go down for that one too." Something strange passed through Hunt's face at that. Suddenly, Nick realised just what it meant. The realisation created a surge of hope. "You didn't rape her, did you?"

PJ's eyes widened where he lay on the floor. He was being hit by the same feeling as Nick. It was relief that there was one less thing to fight.

It was nearly a minute before Hunt could reply. It was strained, as though it pained him to say it. "No."

"But you still abducted her, tried to kill her, then dumped her out in the cold rain where you thought no one would find her," Nick reminded him. He gave a kind of sarcastic laugh. "And they say chivalry is dead."

Hunt's fury increased with every word Nick said. He resumed kicking PJ, causing the detective to moan from where he was lying. Nick felt useless as Hunt continued to lay into PJ. That was, until Hunt stopped kicking and he cocked the gun.

Panic shot through PJ so sharply that it surprised Nick. The detective's usually calm and thoughtful blue eyes were now wide with terror as he focused on the barrel of the gun.

Nick felt his heart race. He barely managed to choke out a warning. "Put the weapon down, Hunt," he instructed firmly in the loudest voice he could manage. "Put the weapon down on the ground and step away."

But Hunt didn't put the weapon down and he certainly didn't step away. Instead, he began to squeeze the trigger.

Nick knew he had to act. He knew there was only one thing he could do. It was so automatic that he didn't even need to think. PJ's life was in imminent danger, and he had to defend him. So he quickly corrected his aim and fired.

It was only one shot, but that was all he needed. The bullet hit Hunt in the back of the head and, in a splatter of blood, he fell to the ground. He was dead long before his body hit the floor beside PJ.

For a moment, neither PJ nor Nick could speak. They were simply in too much shock to do much of anything. Everything suddenly seemed far too quiet, far too still. Exhaustion and the shock of what had just happened caused life to take on an unreal quality, as though it were only a dream.

It was PJ who recovered first. He tentatively climbed to his feet, wincing as he did so, and took the gun from Nick's frozen hands. "It's okay," he mumbled, patting his old mate supportively on the shoulder. He left it at that. He didn't think there was much else to say.

* * *

Half an hour later, Nick found himself finally leaving the Widgeree Station again. Mark and Martin had arrived to grill him over the shooting. They were nothing compared to what he'd face from Homicide and ESD within the next couple of days.

PJ was already outside, sitting on the bonnet of one of the marked police cars. He wore a distracted expression on his face as he placed with his mobile phone. It took three passes of Nick's hand across his face before he snapped back to reality. "I just got off the phone to Chris," he explained, waving the phone a little as he spoke. "Amy's still in surgery, but it looks like she should survive. Zoe's got the bleeding under control, so…she should be okay." He offered Nick a hopeful smile that brought the twinkle back to the Sergeant's eyes.

"That's good," he replied as he sat down beside him. He was a little more tentative in sitting on the car than PJ was – he knew that he was heavier than his friend and that it had something to do with the fact that PJ made more of an effort to control his weight than he did. "How badly was she injured?"

"Bad enough," PJ sighed in response. "One bullet punctured a lung. Another one shattered one of the ribs that Hunt's kicking didn't break. The third one narrowly missed her liver. She's got about five broken ribs in total, a nearly-fractured skull and a heck of a lot of bruising. But she'll be okay."

Nick nodded slowly as he tore his gaze away from his old mate. As he stared at the ground, he could only bring one word to his lips. "Sorry."

PJ looked at him in confusion. "What are you sorry about?" he asked. In his exhaustion – both physical and mental – he'd completely forgotten that less than twenty four hours ago, he'd been blaming Nick.

"Hunt did this because of me," Nick reminded him. "If I'd just gotten Hunt in the first place…"

PJ shook his head. "Hunt was a smart-arse, Nick," he pointed out. "If there was anything he could have gotten off on, he would have taken full advantage." He paused before continuing. "Zoe told me about the breakdown. I wish you'd told me when you first came back to town, instead of leaving us hanging on wishy-washy excuses for coming back to Mt. Thomas."

Nick sighed dismally as he turned his gaze skyward. Something akin to embarrassment ran through him. "Why do you think I didn't tell you, PJ?" he asked. "I was ashamed of how easily I fell apart. I've been in the job for more years than I care to count. But I still fell apart."

"I can tell you why that happened," PJ said as Nick finally met his eyes again. "It's because you don't do anything by halves. I've known you long enough to know that you throw yourself into everything you do. It's part of what makes you such a good copper, but it also means that you fall harder when things go wrong."

Nick looked at him, a little surprised by the tone of the conversation. He'd been expecting PJ to be angry, not understanding. "So you don't hate me?"

PJ almost seemed amused by Nick's question. It was so ridiculous to him that, at first, he had difficulty in taking the query seriously. Hating Nick seemed so unfathomable that he almost laughed at the suggestion. "I don't hate you," he replied simply. "I can't. You can't hate someone who has made you laugh at times when you thought the whole world was caving in. It's as simple as that."

As PJ finished, he winced. He pressed his hand against his side, his face screwed up in pain. Concern filled Nick's face. "He really laid into you, didn't he?" Nick observed.

PJ almost laughed, only to wish he hadn't as a new rush of pain swept over him. "Well, it's nothing compared to what I'm be suffering with if you hadn't intervened," he pointed out. At the strange look that passed through Nick's face, he continued. "Killing someone's not easy, Nick. You're not the only one who's had to do what you did. If you want to talk about it…"

Nick shook his head. He'd never contemplated what killing someone would be like before now. He'd made a conscious effort never to consider it. He'd joined the force to save lives, so the idea of taking one was abhorrent. But he didn't feel any of the emotional turmoil that he'd expected to feel. He didn't feel guilty or ashamed or anything that he had watched PJ go through after the Raelene Darcy incident. He just felt relieved. He'd been able to stop Hunt from killing PJ. And there was a kind of peace that came from knowing that Hunt could never hurt someone he loved again.

"I'll be fine," he reassured PJ with a half-smile. "I was finally able to stop Hunt from killing someone. It's over. That noose has gone from my neck."

PJ returned Nick's half-smile. "I owe you a huge thanks for saving my neck in there. Amy would be waking up a widow if it wasn't for you."

Nick gently patted PJ on the back. He was careful not to hit him too hard for fear of causing him greater pain. "What are mates for?"

_We were always best of friends  
__Stick together and defend_

* * *

It was nearly a day and a half later when Nick finally headed to the hospital, a bouquet of roses lying in his arms. That day and a half had been too long for him to contemplate. ESD and Homicide's grilling had been worse than he'd expected. Not to mention Martin Barnes' reaction. He'd soon worked out that the new Inspector was the PR boy from hell and was more concerned about what Tony Timms was going to write in the Gazette than the actual ordeal PJ and Nick had been through.

He'd spent the night of the shooting at the station, dozing in the cells. Even after PJ had called, saying Zoe was out of surgery, he couldn't bring himself to face his wife. He knew what Zoe was like when it came to protecting her family and he didn't know if he could be as understanding as PJ was about the danger Hunt had put them all in.

It was late afternoon before he'd finally gotten the all-clear over the shooting – of course, he received one of the most unpleasant reprimands of his life, but at least it wasn't a murder charge. Once they'd finished with him, he'd stopped off at the florist before heading to the hospital. He wanted to give PJ the good news and see Amy. Even if she was still unconscious.

PJ was sitting in Amy's room when he arrived; holding her pale, limp hand. There was no other word for how Amy looked than awful. Her skin was almost white, except for the dark black, purple and yellow bruises, and a thick bandage had been wrapped around her left hand where the drip was injected. An oxygen mask had been strapped over her nose and mouth and he got the feeling that the rest of her body, hidden beneath the hospital gown and blankets, was much worse.

It took a moment for PJ to realise Nick was even there. Blue eyes looked to him and immediately betrayed the utter exhaustion PJ felt. Nick wouldn't be surprised if PJ hadn't slept for days.

"You look like death warmed up," Nick observed as he grabbed a plastic chair and pulled it up next to PJ.

PJ smiled a little. It was a half-hearted smile – he simply didn't have the strength for anything more. "Just what every bloke wants to hear from his best mate, I'm sure," he laughed sarcastically.

"Come on, Patrick," Nick chuckled weakly. He had only had a few hours more sleep than PJ had. "You know sarcasm's the lowest form of humour."

"That'd be why you use it so much, then," PJ retorted. The banter subsided as he looked back to Amy's still face. "Zoe's not sure when she's going to wake up," he explained. "She said that Amy's body has been through a lot and needs time to recover. But I just wish she'd wake up." He squeezed Amy's hand tighter. "At least she's breathing on her own now, though. I suppose that's something."

Nick nodded slowly. He sat the bouquet on the bed beside Amy's legs. He sighed as he slouched back into the chair. "They finally cleared me over the shooting."

PJ looked over to him and grinned. He looked happier than he had in a while. "So ESD and Homicide finally realised the obvious, did they?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah," he replied thoughtfully. "I mean, I think I nearly gave ol' Marty Barnes a heart attack at the thought of the bad publicity and I doubt I'll be making Chief Commissioner any time soon, but at least I'm not up on a murder charge." He looked at PJ gratefully. "They made it abundantly clear that the only thing that saved me was your evidence. If you weren't there, I'd probably be dismissed by now."

PJ nodded in understanding and looked back to Amy. He reached out gently to comb strands of Amy's hair from her face. "If she'd just wake up…" he mumbled, leaning forward as he kissed her cheek tenderly. He squeezed her hand a little tighter, only to find his heart skipping a beat as he felt her squeeze back.

Nick could see the change pass through PJ. PJ's tired eyes suddenly widened and his mouth dropped open. Nick climbed to his feet, trying to work out what exactly was happening. At the sight of Amy's fluttering eyelids, he realised. "I'll go grab Zoe," he said automatically, temporarily forgetting that he had been avoiding Zoe. He rushed out of the room as PJ climbed to his feet and began combing hair back from Amy's eyes.

"Amy?" he asked, his voice teeming over with hope. "Amez, it's me. It's okay now. It'll all be alright now. It's over."

Nick returned with Zoe before Amy could completely regain consciousness and shoved the two men aside. PJ pressed himself up against the wall and waited – Nick at his side – for Zoe to finish. It was a few minutes before Zoe left Amy's bedside to approach PJ. "She'll be groggy for an hour or so," she explained. "I've given her some morphine to help with the pain. If it gets too bad, just buzz and someone will come." Zoe placed a hand on PJ's arm supportively. "She's very lucky." She shot Nick a blank stare before leaving them alone again in Amy's room.

PJ was back at Amy's side before Zoe was out the door. Amy was barely awake, mumbling incoherently into the oxygen mask. PJ soothed her, sitting beside her for a while before climbing carefully into the bed to lie beside her. He didn't look at all comfortable on the lumpy bed, but being closer to his wife seemed to make up for it.

Nick watched them for a little while before grabbing up his bouquet, promising to find some water for them, and left. He hadn't been planning on finding Zoe. He'd just been planning on finding a vase and some water for the flowers then going again. But on his way down the corridor, he bumped into Zoe, knocking the sheets of paper out of her hands.

He went to apologise, but Zoe silenced him. "Don't, Nick," she told him tiredly. "I don't think I can take your apologies without at least a few hours sleep." She gathered the sheets back up and looked to him. There was a pained kind of expression on her face. "I didn't mean to have a go at you about Hunt," she finally explained. "It's just…"

"I put you through all of that," he finished for her. "You watched me obsess over that case and then fall apart at the end of it. I brought you and the boys under threat. I don't blame you."

Zoe went to reply, but words failed her. She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before setting the papers aside on a nearby chair and throwing herself at Nick. She locked her arms tightly around his chest and pressed her lips hard against his. It was a moment before Nick's shock passed and he was able to kiss her back.

He finally managed to wrestle his lips away from Zoe's. "I have to find some water for these flowers…" he began. He never got a chance to finish.

"Stuff the flowers," she told him firmly and kissed him again as Nick began to play with the soft curls that framed her face. The feeling of relief ran through him anew, making him feel more alive than he had in ages, despite the lack of sleep. A chapter of his life had closed. It was time to start writing a new one.

* * *

Next episode... "Ghosts of Christmas Past"

Amy and PJ pursue a Christmas thief with a peculiar MO. Christmas turns to tragedy for the Heelers when a storm strikes Mt. Thomas and Mark and Adam struggle with past Christmas nightmares.


	7. Ep 27: Ghosts of Christmas Past

**Episode 27: "Ghosts of Christmas Past"**

_Summary: Amy and PJ pursue a Christmas thief with a peculiar MO. Christmas turns to tragedy for the Heelers when a storm strikes Mt. Thomas and Mark and Adam struggle with past Christmas nightmares._

_Lyrics come from "No Bravery" by James Blunt, "Love Gets Me Every Time" by Shania Twain, "See the Sun" by Dido, "Afterglow" by INXS and "Superman" by Five for Fighting._

It was early in the morning when Amy awoke, her mind slowly becoming aware of the birds making a racket outside her bedroom window. It had been nearly six months since Raymond Hunt had turned Mt. Thomas on its head and she and PJ had celebrated their six month wedding anniversary just over a week ago. PJ had made quite an event of it. He'd decorated the Parlour at the pub – with considerable help from Chris – and they'd spent the whole night dancing and eating and joking. It had been wonderful.

It had taken her longer than she expected to recover from Hunt's attack. She'd forgotten that she was not quite as young and fit as she used to be. And the beating she'd received from Hunt had been thorough and hampered all of Zoe and Adam's best attempts to get her out of bed. It was nearly a month before Zoe was happy enough to discharge her – possibly because she was worried Amy would try going back to work before she was well enough if she was allowed to go home any earlier. Even when she went home, Zoe instructed Nick to arrest Amy if she even thought about going back to work. And, despite Nick's protests that Zoe had no authority over him, Amy got the feeling that Nick would do it. So she stayed away into Zoe gave her clearance to return to work.

The psychologists were almost as bad as the medics. Both Zoe and Mark continually harassed her, trying to convince her to talk to someone about 'her ordeal'. She didn't want to and didn't need to. She knew Nick was getting the same treatment over the Raymond Hunt shooting. She got the feeling she was the only one who understood why he refused to see a psychologist. They both just felt relieved it was over and that they survived and just wanted to get on with living their lives.

It had taken nearly six months for Mt. Thomas to go back to sleep. And now it was a few days out from Christmas and the town was waking back up again.

She was almost surprised by the fact that she was looking forward to Christmas. She'd allowed Dash to put decorations up in the CI office and even lay some tinsel across her desk. She'd even let PJ put a Christmas tree up at home. She hadn't bothered with a Christmas tree since she'd moved out of Lisa Craig's house.

As Amy slowly awoke, she kicked the blankets off her hard. It was a hot, muggy kind of summer. One of the hottest on record, she recalled Chris lamenting a few nights ago. She also remembered the farmers at the next table, complaining about the dry spell. They needed rain soon or they'd lose all their crops. But, with a kind of knowing smile, Dash had said that rain would come. It always did, eventually. And the farmers grudgingly took her word for it. She was from a farming family – she did have some knowledge of the weather.

Rolling over, Amy reached out to pull herself close to PJ, only to find her hand hitting the sheet beside her. That woke her up completely. She jolted up to sitting, staring at the empty space beside her with wide eyes. It wasn't like PJ to wake up before her. She climbed out of bed and padded barefoot out into the hallway. There was still no sign of PJ.

She didn't find him until she reached the front room, where PJ was just coming back inside with a broad grin on his face. It faded when he saw her. "Oh, Amez," he began, a little surprised. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Where were you?" Amy asked, folding her arms across the soft silk nightie that PJ had bought her as an anniversary present. "I woke up and you weren't there."

A sheepish grin crossed PJ's face. "I had to check your present arrived alright," he explained.

Amy looked at him in confusion. "My present?"

He nodded as he slipped around to stand behind her and covered her eyes with his hands. "I'm going to give it to you now," he declared as he began to direct her outside.

Unable to see, Amy's usual grace disappeared and she began to trip and stumble. "Peej, uncover my eyes," she told him, unable to quite stifle her laugh.

He shook his head. "Nope," he replied as his grin broadened. "It's a surprise."

She laughed again as she tried to wrestle free of PJ's arms. "Come on, Peej. You know I hate surprises."

"You'll like this one," PJ told her and refused to answer anymore questions. Eventually, Amy stopped struggling against him and allowed herself to be led along.

PJ didn't stop until they were outside. It was only then that he uncovered her eyes. Immediately, Amy's jaw dropped open. Sitting in the driveway in front of her was an old red ute. She knew nothing about cars and wasn't willing to estimate its age, but she knew it had the kind of cab that you saw in photographs of crash scenes with nothing more than a scratched paint job, surrounded by pieces of the newer car it had destroyed.

The car did need a new paint job. The red had faded considerably over time and it looked scratched in places, but it wasn't bad. It had character.

"Merry Christmas," PJ told her, taking advantage of her stunned silence to kiss her cheek.

She shook her head in shock as she approached the car tentatively. "Does it even go?" she asked doubtfully. She knew nothing about cars, but she did know that this was old. The only place she had seen a car like this was in photos of her grandparents and of her parents when they were young.

He chuckled. "Yeah, it goes. How do you reckon it got here?" he replied. He headed over to the car and patted the bonnet fondly. "Dash's niece, Macca, is a mechanic. She got it going again. Don't worry – it's roadworthy. I checked. It's got a new engine and everything…"

Amy wasn't listening anymore. She had opened the driver's side door and was sitting in the cab. It was quite comfortable, she decided. The car radio probably needed replacing and she was definitely going to get some new seat covers for it, but it was comfortable. She liked it. And it had character – the same reason why she'd bought her now written-off Vee Dub.

Amy's silence made PJ nervous. His smile faded as his tone suddenly changed. "You don't like it," he mumbled. He nodded to himself thoughtfully as he continued. "Look, I'll sort it out. Don't worry. We'll get you another car…"

Amy looked to him in bewilderment. A grin spread across her face as she leapt out of the car and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him passionately. "I love it," she managed when she finally came up for air. "I absolutely love it."

* * *

The others were waiting in the car park as Amy pulled her new-old car to a stop outside the station. They were talking amongst themselves and laughing as though they somehow found it amusing.

Nick approaching them as PJ and Amy climbed out of the ute, appraising the car with his eyes. He seemed to approve. "Nice choice, Patrick dear," he said with a nod. "It's a 1950s model, isn't it?" He sighed fondly at PJ's nod of reply. "Oh, they just don't make them like this anymore."

Dash was grinning too as she ran a hand along the scratched and faded paintwork on the bonnet. "Macca didn't do too badly with it," she observed. "Not bad at all. The muffler could probably still do with a bit of work, but it's good."

Amy found herself fuming a little. So her colleagues had been in on it too. Chris, Zoe and Adam had probably also been party to this little present conspiracy. She watched with a smile as they gathered around her car and played happily with it. Occasionally, they offered comments – new seat covers, new radio, new muffler – but she let them go.

It was Christmas. And, for some reason, she couldn't even force herself to try to be in a bad mood.

* * *

It was later that afternoon that Nick invited himself into the CI office, neglecting as always to knock. PJ rolled his eyes, not bothering to look up to see who had entered. Even Dash had learnt the art of knocking by now. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" he asked, while Amy smiled a little. For all that she once complained about Nick, his sense of humour and his manners, she'd come to grow very used to him. And their camaraderie had only grown stronger since the Raymond Hunt ordeal.

Nick grinned as he leant back against the door. "I'm six foot four and I'm a policeman," he reminded them. "What do I need manners for?"

PJ laughed as he finally looked up. "So to what do we owe the honour of your visit?" he asked as he sat back in his swivel chair.

"Carols in the Park," Nick explained. "It's on tonight and I want you two to come with me."

Amy's eyes narrowed as she looked at Nick. "Why do you want us to go with you?"

Nick grinned as he turned to her. "You see, Foxtrot, Zoe and the boys have flatly refused under any circumstances to go and have threatened to torture me if I bother asking. Dash and Adam are already on their way to Melbourne to visit Adam's siblings and won't be back until tomorrow and Starry and the Boss have already said no."

Amy sighed as she felt herself caving. Nick was looking at her like a little lost puppy and, just as those piercing blue eyes of his could convince her to confide in him; they could convince her to attend Carols in the Park. "Alright, alright, we'll come," she told him. "Be ready at six-thirty for PJ and I to pick you up."

Nick looked very satisfied with himself as he left the CI office. PJ didn't look so happy – his mouth was gaping and he was looking at Amy in disbelief. "Why did you do that for?" he demanded with a shake of his head. "Have you ever been to one of these things before?" She shook her head. PJ continued. "You end up sitting out in the hot, humid night, become a banquet for the mossies and listen to a bunch of tone deaf people sing off-key all night."

She suddenly seemed to realise what she had agreed to. Burying her head in her hands, she let out a frustrated groan. "What did I get us into?"

* * *

The night was nearly as unpleasant as PJ had promised it would be. The weather was humid – holding what Dash had described a few days earlier as the promise of heavy rain. Yet, people still turned out in droves to sit on the scratchy, dry grass of the park, holding torches instead of candles due to the fire ban, and sing repetitive Christmas carols in voices that reminded Amy more of chipmunks than anything else.

But Nick seemed determined to make the night amusing. By the end of it, the focus was less on the performers on stage and more on Nick. He stood on the hill, singing carols in full opera style, complete with extravagant arm movements.

It was nearly eleven before PJ and Amy could drag him away from his eager crowd. Even then, he'd already given three encore performances of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' and two of 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town'. He seemed disappointed as PJ forced him into the back seat of Amy's ute.

"You're both spoil-sports," Nick declared, folding his arms as he sank back into the seat. "We could have stayed out for longer."

Amy replied distractedly as she reversed out of the park. "We've all got work tomorrow," she reminded him. "And the Christmas party tomorrow night."

Nick grinned, his mood suddenly bright again. The idea of the Christmas party seemed to have cheered him up considerably. It was a while before he spoke. "You know, I am very disappointed with this year's Carols in the Park."

PJ raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder to Nick. "Really?"

Nick nodded firmly. "You see Patrick, Foxtrot – they didn't sing 'Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer'. You can't have Carols in the Park without singing that." Drawing in a deep breath, he gave his best impression of an opera singer as he began to belt out the song. "Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer had a very shiny nose!"

PJ sank forward, hiding his face in his hands. "Oh God, no. Not this."

"And if you ever saw it you would even say it glows…" Nick continued.

Without thinking, Amy found herself joining in. "Like a light bulb."

Nick was grinning. "That's it, Foxtrot!" he told her, hitting the back of her seat happily. "That's the spirit!" Drawing in another breath, he resumed singing. "All of the other reindeers used to laugh and call him names…"

"Like Pinocchio," Amy added, almost laughing too hard now to be easily understood.

"They never let poor Rudolf join in any reindeer games…"

"Like Monopoly."

PJ finally raised his head from his hands. "You see," he said, interrupting Nick as he began the next line of the song. "That's the part I don't get. I mean – why on earth does Rudolf, let alone any reindeer, want to play Monopoly. It's an awful game."

Nick's grin broadened. "Not when you play it Schultz style," he told them with a wink.

PJ raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"

Nick continued as though PJ hadn't spoken at all. "We have natural disasters in our games," he explained. "We have floods, earthquakes and tornadoes."

"What?"

"You see, a flood is when someone pours a glass of water over your houses to wash them all away," Nick clarified, "an earthquake is when someone shakes the board to knock everyone's houses down and a tornado is when someone blows everything away."

"Sounds like cheating to me," PJ pointed out, grinning as he sat back in his seat. It was a good thing that he chose that moment to get back behind the protection the car seat offered – Nick threw his Carols in the Park programme at where PJ's head had been seconds before.

Amy gave a roll of her eyes. "Alright, come on," she told them. The tone of her voice silenced them. It was clear to both of them that they were starting to push it now. "You're worse than a couple of children."

PJ nodded and apologised sincerely. Seconds later, he caught sight of Nick pulling a face at him in the rear view mirror and threw the programme back at him. Unlike Nick, PJ's throw didn't miss.

At the reprimanding yet somewhat amused expression on Amy's face, PJ shrugged. "Sorry," he told her with a sheepish grin. "Nick was asking for it."

* * *

It was nearly nine when the phone rang on the kitchen counter where Amy was eating breakfast, that morning's newspaper laid out before her. As CI, they weren't really forced to keep rostered hours like their uniformed colleagues and for once had decided to take advantage of that. She'd been up since six, had gotten dressed hurriedly and gone for a walk to clear the sleep from her head. Once, late nights and early mornings wouldn't have bothered her. In fact, they had just been part of her routine. But she found that lack of sleep was hitting her harder as she got older.

She grabbed the phone from its cradle and raised it to her ear. "Hello, Amy Fox speaking." She was surprised at how formal her tone sounded. She didn't think that would ever change.

"Amy, it's Mark," Mark explained as Amy scratched idly at a mozzie bite. PJ had been right – the mosquitoes had had a field day with her. "We've got a cold burg you should have a look at."

Amy leant forward across the counter, grabbing a pad and pen from where they sat against the wall. "Any details?" she asked, tucking a loose strand of dark hair back behind her ear.

"Yeah, it's at 105 Blake Street," Mark explained as Amy scribbled furiously. "The owner, Elizabeth Carling, was out at Carols in the Park last night and came home this morning to find all her electrical gear gone. TV, computer, VCR, DVD player – the works."

Amy nodded as she put the lid back on the pen. "PJ and I will be out to have a look as soon as possible," she replied and after a quick goodbye, hung up the phone. She sat the note pad aside as she hurriedly finished her breakfast and headed into the bedroom.

PJ was lying in bed, stretching out in his sleep. In the night heat, he'd kicked all the blankets off so Amy had full view of his bare chest and old blue boxers. Grinning, she climbed onto the bed and kissed his lips tenderly.

It seemed to have the desired effect. He began to stir, reaching out for her blindly as he kissed her back. She pulled away a little and found herself laughing at his disappointed groan. "Get up, Peej."

"No!" he moaned, grabbing for her blindly as she climbed off the bed to finish getting ready. She was already dressed – albeit not in one of her usual suits. She'd decided it was too hot for that and was instead wearing a pair of jeans and a fitted emerald green t-shirt that matched the colour of her eyes. As PJ finally opened his eyes, he caught sight of her standing in the ensuite, tying her hair back into a ponytail so her fringe framed her face.

She crouched down beside the bed and kissed his lips again. "It's a cold burg," she teased and, before she knew it, PJ was up. The promise of a crime to solve had been too great for him to resist. He was dressed in record time, wearing the lightest pair of black paints he could find and an old lilac coloured shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He seemed surprised at the casual outfit she was wearing, but didn't comment.

He hurriedly wolfed down a muesli bar and coffee and headed out the door, a grinning Amy in pursuit. It was clear he was happy for a case to solve after a week of nothing worthy of CI involvement.

* * *

Elizabeth Carling was waiting outside her house when PJ pulled the CI car to a stop. They'd dropped by the station on the way to pick it as well as the fingerprinting kit and their folders. Elizabeth's eyes widened in delight as she saw them climb out of the car. She was a pretty young thing, probably only in her mid-twenties and with shiny blonde ringlets falling down to her elbows. She was wearing a white singlet and denim shorts that displayed every aspect of her figure perfectly as she ran forward to meet them half-way up the driveway.

PJ spoke first. "I'm Senior Detective Hasham and this is…"

Elizabeth interrupted them. "Your wife," she finished for him. "Senior Detective…oh, I suppose it'd be Hasham too, right?" She was smiling in a nervous, embarrassed kind of way as she looked to Amy.

A faint pink blush rose in Amy's cheeks. "Ah, no," she clarified. "It's, um, still Senior Detective Fox." The blush didn't fade until she walked past Elizabeth and was inspecting the house. It was an old house, probably dating back a hundred years or more. It was brick and weatherboard with a faded tin roof that was in dire need of a paint job, and a chimney that probably hadn't been used within Elizabeth's lifetime.

PJ watched Amy for a moment before turning back to Elizabeth. "I suppose you'd be Elizabeth Carling, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but call me Lizzie. The only person who calls me Elizabeth is my mother and that's only when I'm in trouble."

PJ nodded, and gestured towards the house. "Can we have a look?"

Lizzie nodded and led PJ up the path to the front door. While PJ went inside, Amy focused on the exterior of the house. There were no forced locks, no broken glass panes, no open windows. In fact, there were no obvious signs of forced entry at all. After a few minutes of confused thought, she joined PJ and Lizzie inside.

The house didn't look like it had been decorated by a woman of Lizzie's age. It was cluttered with old black and white photographs, doilies and old knick knacks that reminded Amy of childhood years spent with her Nan. She shook the memories away before they could reduce her to tears and looked to Lizzie curiously. "How long have you been living here?" she asked.

"Only a few months," Lizzie explained. She went to pick up one of the photographs, only to be stopped by PJ's warning about disturbing evidence. "It's was my grandmother's house. She left it to me in her will when she died. It was pancreatic cancer."

PJ made a sympathetic face. It was clear he was remembering that his mother had met the very same fate years before. Shaking the thought away, he began to speak. "Do you leave a spare key anywhere?" he asked. "Because we can't find any signs of forced entry, so that indicates that whoever broke in had a key."

Lizzie frowned distractedly. "My mum has one for those times when she likes to drop in unannounced…" she trailed off as she thought. "But, other than that, I don't have a spare key. I don't leave one under a pot plant for this very reason."

Amy nodded thoughtfully before prying PJ's fingers off the fingerprinting kit. "I'll get some prints from where the gear was stolen," she explained.

* * *

PJ let out a frustrated groan as he and Amy reached the CI car. She dumped the fingerprinting kit on the back seat before looking back to PJ. She wore the same frustrated and confused expression that he did.

"I don't get it," PJ mumbled as he braced himself against the roof of the Ford Falcon. "Unless it's Lizzie Carling's mother who robbed her…it doesn't make sense."

Amy frowned as she let her hands rest against the roof of the car. As she did so, the light caught her wedding ring and brought a hint of a smile to her face. After so long of being PJ's girlfriend and then fiancée, she couldn't quite get used to the idea of being PJ's wife.

"There has to be something we're missing," she pointed out distractedly. "Some other way of getting inside that house that doesn't need a key or force…" She turned her head to look the house over, but in the process found herself distracted by something else.

It was a decoration in the neighbour's front yard. It was a large inflatable chimney with a large inflatable Santa sitting in it. When turned on, Amy imagined that the Santa would probably move up and down as though entering the chimney.

An idea struck her with such force that, for a moment, she was lost for words. She didn't speak until her gaze was back upon the Carling house. "No way on earth…" she mumbled in disbelief.

PJ looked at her in confusion. "What?" he asked. Amy didn't reply, but just pointed at the roof of Lizzie's house. As soon as PJ saw he understood. Amy was looking at the chimney.

* * *

Lizzie watched from the ground, confusion rampant in her eyes, as Amy climbed the metal ladder that PJ was holding. Despite PJ's protests, Amy had offered to climb up onto the roof with the fingerprinting kit to check out her theory. She didn't want PJ up here. No matter what PJ had said to try to convince her otherwise, she knew that PJ was infinitely more likely to fall than she was.

It was hard to get a proper foothold on the tin roof. The gloves she had to wear to stop herself from contaminating the scene made staying on the roof even harder. But she managed to not fall, despite the couple of false alarms, and she managed to dust the chimney. It didn't take long to find the evidence she wanted.

"Bingo," she mumbled and her voice, no matter how soft, met PJ's ears.

"What have you got?" he asked, looking as though he was ready to bolt up the ladder to join her. However, he managed to restrain himself.

Amy went to lean over to tell him, but soon regretted it when she began to slip. Careful not to ruin her find, she grabbed hold of the chimney to stabilise herself. "I've found a print!" she called down, her heart still racing from another near-accident. She continued dusting for another few minutes and found a few more prints before finally climbing down.

Getting down was almost harder than getting up. At one point, she nearly ended up sliding right off the roof and crashing to the ground next to PJ. But, somehow, she managed to maintain her footing well enough to get down the ladder and onto the ground without any injuries.

PJ looked at her worriedly, but she ignored him for the moment. "There's at least three prints up there," she explained, a little breathless. "They're all pretty clear. We'll have to get Forensics up there to lift them, though. It's hard enough just staying upright."

* * *

Nick began choking on his coffee as he heard PJ and Amy explain their case. From her desk nearby, Dash was laughing, tossing her head and letting her newly-cut shoulder-length hair fly around her face. Ringo was smiling a little from where he stood behind Nick, patting him on the back to try to clear out the coffee. According to Nick, it had gone down the wrong way.

"You're kidding me," Dash said, bringing her knees to her chest as she curled up in her swivel chair. "So we've got some reverse Santa running around, climbing down chimneys and stealing electrical gear and somehow getting it back up the chimney."

Amy shook her head as she sat down on the edge of Dash's desk. "He doesn't have to get it back up the chimney," she explained. "Once he's inside the house, he can unlock the door from the inside. We've found some more prints on the back door. He just walked out the door."

"And he didn't even think to wear gloves?" Nick asked in disbelief as the coughing finally subsided enough for him to speak. "I mean, even the dumbest criminals wear gloves these days, courtesy of _CSI_."

PJ nodded as he folded his arms across his chest. "Well, if he's not on record, his prints mean nothing unless we catch him. Besides, he probably figured that bare hands made it easier to climb up on the roof without killing himself in the process."

"How did this guy know she wasn't home?" Ringo asked as, realising Nick was alright, he headed back to his desk.

Amy shrugged. "We don't have all the answers yet," she explained. "Maybe he knows her and knew she'd be at Carols in the Park and then spending the night at a friend's place. Maybe he just sat outside her house until she left. There are a lot of maybes at the moment."

Dash nodded thoughtfully. "I can check the records, see if anyone's seen this MO before," she offered enthusiastically. "I can't imagine there'll be a very long list."

PJ nodded before turning to Nick. "You were wrong last night when you kept singing about Santa Claus coming to town," he pointed out with a half-smile. "He's already here."

* * *

The Christmas party was already well under way when Mark arrived, a case of beer in his arms. Amy and PJ had been forced to host it this year. With his divorce coming through, Mark had been forced to sell the house he'd once shared with Penny and split the profits and was now living in a small one-room flat in town. And with some big party at the pub that was going to substantially increase Chris' income, the Imperial had been off limits. So Amy and PJ had reluctantly agreed to hold it.

Music was blaring out from the CD player sitting on the plastic garden table. Mark winced a little. He had lost touch with popular music over thirty years ago. It was all just noise to him. Biscuits and dip were sitting on the table near the CD player, surrounded by any number of half-empty beer bottles and wine glasses.

Amy caught sight of him and smiled. She headed over to him, passing Nick on the way. She paused at the sight of the Sergeant standing in front of the fan they'd brought out from inside, his shirt abandoned on a plastic white chair. She made a face. "Oh come on, Schultzy!"

Nick grinned as he looked over to her. "Sorry, Foxtrot," he apologised as he grabbed his shirt and pulled it back on. "Early Chrissie present for you."

She rolled her eyes as she continued over to Mark. She relieved him of the beer, dumping the box over near the esky. "Thanks for coming," she told him. Something about her expression was pained and Mark had to laugh at it. It was obvious that she was already seeing where this party would end up.

And Amy was right. By ten, the yard was littered with empty bottles, bottle caps and packets of various snack foods. The music had gone off hours ago out of respect for the neighbours. Amy and PJ were just out of town enough for the nearest neighbour to not be living on top of them, but they knew that none of them needed the PR disaster of having noise complaints made about a copper's party.

Dash and Adam had finally gone home at nine, saying that they needed to pick Phoebe up from Charlie's at some respectable time of night. Dash, as always, had avoided alcohol, saying that she 'could never have enough water'. And as the night wore on, it had become very clear that Dash was the only really sober person there. None of them got very drunk though. Zoe hadn't forgotten the lesson Amy's hen's night had taught her and Mark was dropping half of his colleagues home. And Amy had never been a big drinker.

Nick, however, had no such qualms about drinking. At one stage, he looked down to his empty beer bottle and looked infuriated. "Oi!" he called, waving the bottle high. "Who drank my beer?!"

Zoe gave a roll of her eyes as she hit her husband over the arm. "You did," she reminded him. "And on that note, I think it's time we got going."

Mark nodded as he stood up, stretching his back from the hours spent sitting in one of the plastic chairs. "I agree," he declared. "Anyone who wants a lift home with me had better get ready quickly."

Mark's offer saw the rest of their colleagues clear out. They'd be leaving their cars at Amy and PJ's and picking them up when their blood alcohol levels would allow them. Once they'd gone, PJ and Amy just looked at each other. They'd stayed the soberest of them all. They knew they'd have the clean-up job and they still had the robbery at Lizzie Carling's to investigate in the morning.

PJ groaned as he finally climbed to his feet. "I'll go get the garbage bags," he promised and returned with two large black plastic bags. He handed one to Amy and they began to clean up.

She laughed a little as she crouched down to clean up the pile of bottles that Nick had dumped on the ground. "Do you reckon we could charge Sergeant Schultz with littering?" she asked.

PJ grinned. "I don't know, but I do now know why I always left these disasters up to the Boss or Chris to organise. Our colleagues are pigs."

"I agree," Amy told him with a smile.

The two continued cleaning for a few more minutes before PJ lost interest in it entirely. He abandoned his garbage bag and headed over to Amy, gathering her up in his arms. She looked at him with an expression of surprise and disbelief.

"I've got an idea," PJ declared as he carried her towards the house. "Let's leave the cleaning and blackmail a certain very drunk Sergeant to do it tomorrow when his hangover has got him nice and pliable."

She laughed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his lips. "So," she began with a grin. "If we're leaving the cleaning to Nick, what are we going to do?"

PJ kissed her neck and whispered his reply in her ear. "Oh, I'm sure we'll think of something, my gorgeous wifey."

At this, Amy escaped from PJ's arms and grabbed a cushion from the couch. She threw it at him and it hit him in the chest. He shot her a wounded look. "You called me wifey," she pointed out and found herself laughing as PJ wrapped his arms around her again, pressing his lips hard against hers.

* * *

Amy was dozing lightly at her desk when the phone rang. It was mid morning and only half their colleagues had fronted for work. Dash, Mark, herself and PJ had showed, none of them sporting the hangovers that they knew Nick and Ringo most likely had. Nick had apparently been busy last night trying to drink them all under the table, while Ringo had pushed himself to the limit. She expected they might show later in the day once their headaches were under control and they'd downed several Beroccas.

They'd heard back about the burglary. The prints were very clear, but their thief wasn't on record. Which meant that they were close to square one.

She answered the phone and a grin spread across her face. "Oh, Jonesy! How are you? Oh…"

PJ chose that moment to return from the mess room, a packet of sea salt flavoured chips in his hand. He stopped, hand half raised to his mouth at the mention of Jonesy's name and sat down at his desk. A few minutes later, Amy finally managed to wrap up the conversation and sat the phone down. She was wearing a grin.

"What did Jonesy have to say?" PJ asked as he sat back in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. He didn't really need to ask. He'd been expecting to hear from Jonesy for a few weeks now.

"He's finally stopped admiring his offspring for long enough to make a phone call," Amy explained. "Tess gave birth to a little girl."

He nodded slowly as a hint of a smile crept across his lips. "What have they named her?"

She hesitated for a moment. She knew what PJ would think of when he heard the name. "Joanna Grace Jones."

Amy was right. Instantly, PJ's mind was sent back to Jo Parrish and Grace Curtis and moments long past. Those moments lingered in his mind for a few seconds before he shook himself back to the present and his wife sitting opposite. "Joanna Grace," he mused as his smile broadened. "If she's got even a bit of the women she was named for in her, she'll be brilliant."

Seeing the distant look in PJ's eyes, Amy climbed to her feet and crossed the office to perch herself on the corner of her husband's desk. "Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

The distance lingered for a moment before fading into a bright sparkle and PJ reached out to pull Amy into his lap. He kissed her neck and cheek passionately as she giggled, half-heartedly trying to free herself from his grasp.

"Peej!"

The door opened, but neither detective realised until they heard Mark clear his throat loudly. "If you two weren't such a good team, I'd have you split up, you know," he told them with a roll of his eyes. "I can suddenly see why everyone has always said that in-office relationships can have an effect on work."

Amy and PJ broke apart and Amy flushed bright red as she slipped back over to her own desk. "Sorry, Boss," she apologised quickly. Tidying her hair, she dared herself to meet his gaze. "You wanted to speak to us?"

"There's been another burglary, same MO as the Carling burg," Mark explained. "The complainant is a Michael Frederickson of 11 Penthope Road. He was staying with his mother last night and came home to find all his electronic gear gone."

PJ raised an eyebrow and looked over to Amy. "I don't suppose he has a chimney, does he?"

A grin spread across Mark's face. "First question I asked him."

* * *

Michael Frederickson's house was that of a typical twenty-something bachelor. The burglar had taken his television, computer, DVD player, VCR and PlayStation, but had left his assortment of mouldy pizza boxes, empty beer bottles and men's magazines.

The MO was exactly what they had been expecting – no obvious sign of forced entry and prints aplenty around where the items had once been. They decided to leave the chimney dusting for Crime Scene. Neither of them particularly wanted to chance staying upright on that roof now it had started sprinkling.

It was starting to drizzle in earnest by the time PJ and Amy finished and climbed back into the car.

"Looks like Dash was right," Amy mumbled as she tried to flatten the frizz in her usually neat, straight hair.

"Does that surprise you?"

* * *

Dash was busy at her desk when the buzzer sounded from the reception area. She headed out to answer it and found herself standing opposite a man of about thirty wearing a rain-spotted red t-shirt and denim shorts.

"Can I help you?" she asked as she leant across the desk.

He held out an old wallet. It was fairly plain black leather. Dash took it hesitantly.

"I found this on a bench in the park. Someone must have dropped it," he explained. "There's no money inside. I probably would have kept it otherwise."

Dash couldn't help but smile. An honest man. She opened the wallet and began to dig through it. There was no sign of any identification – no credit cards, no driver's licence, not even a library card. It had been emptied and dumped. But as she dug through, she found herself surprised to find a scrap of paper.

She pulled it out and studied it with narrowed eyes. It was an envelope that someone had written on, a list of some sort. Her eyes widened as she realised what it was. She was so captivated that she didn't notice the man opposite talking to her.

"Can I go?" he asked, as Dash finally snapped back to attention.

She nodded, thanked him and watched him leave before heading back into the muster room. Her mind was still whirling with the gravity of her discovery. It wasn't just any old list of addresses. It couldn't be. Not when the first two on the list had just been burgled and her own house was down as the next target.

* * *

PJ and Amy were both very interested by Dash's discovery. Amy studied the list, marking each on an old, worn town map, while PJ frowned distractedly. It was PJ who spoke first. "Your house has a chimney, doesn't it, Dash?"

Dash nodded. "It was part of the attraction of the place," she replied as she leant back against the CI office door. "I never imagined it would make me a target for a burglar. I don't know who could know Adam and I are going to spend Christmas night at Charlie's. I don't remember telling anyone other than you guys."

Amy shrugged thoughtfully. "Have there been any reports of missing wallets lately?" she asked, looking up from the map. At Dash's shaking head, she sighed thoughtfully. "Our thief might not report it. He might have realised that we'd work out what that list was."

PJ nodded as he intertwined his fingers behind his head. His frown deepened. "We're looking for someone who knows that these houses have chimneys, knows he can gain access through them and knows when the owners are going to be out." He looked across to Amy before looking up to Dash. "Who would know that?"

"Hairdresser?" Dash proposed with a shrug. "People confide in them a lot. I know my mum always said that they were better than a shrink and a lot cheaper too."

Amy shook her head. "We need to find someone who has had access to these houses and knows about the chimneys. Maybe a builder or someone with access to the house plans."

"Some of these houses are old," Dash pointed out, nodding to the list under Amy's left hand. "I doubt they ever had a house plan at all, let alone one that survived. I know my house doesn't."

PJ switched his gaze between the two women before something hit him and a grin spread across his face. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable. "What about a real estate agent?"

Amy nodded thoughtfully. She'd caught PJ's train of thought perfectly. She looked up to Dash. "Would you be able to give us a list of the real estate agencies in Mt. Thomas?"

It was PJ who replied. "Not plural," he told her as he climbed to his feet. "There's only one real force in real estate in Mt. Thomas anymore."

Dash grinned as she added, "Celia Donald."

* * *

Celia was adjusting something in the window when Amy and PJ arrived. Her grin broadened, showing the wrinkles around her eyes. She'd never admit it, but age was finally starting to take its toll on the once youthful face and was even sending streaks of grey through her short dark curls.

"Ah, Senior Detective Hasham!" she exclaimed, opening the door for them. "And Senior Detective Fox! It would be too much to hope that you're after a new little love nest?"

PJ chuckled nervously as Amy offered a weak smile. "Ah, not quite, Celia," he replied as he pulled the crumpled envelope out of his pocket. "We just need to ask you about these properties…"

Celia took the list from PJ's hand and raised an eyebrow. "Some of my nicest properties," she told him. "Ah, Dash's house! How is she enjoying it?"

"Fine, as far as I'm aware," Amy answered, turning back to Celia. She'd been busy admiring some of the other houses Celia had available for sale. "We need to know whether these properties were ever looked after by Donald Real Estate."

Celia read through the list once again before nodding. "Yeah, all of them were," she replied. "Some quite a while ago, though, but they'd still be on the computer somewhere. Not that I know how the use the darned thing…"

There was a crash from somewhere behind the front desk that caught Amy and PJ's attention. They followed Celia back into the stationery room, where a woman of about twenty-five was crouched over a split box of note pads. She was clearly a Donald relation – she had Celia's hair and complexion.

Celia looked exasperated. "Vivien!" she cried. "You really should watch where you're going!"

Vivien turned red and looked away. "Sorry, Aunty Celia," she apologised and promptly began cleaning up as Celia led Amy and PJ back out to the main office.

"That's my niece – my brother's daughter," Celia explained. "Poor girl. My brother drank their savings away after his wife died and left Vivien with nothing. I figured the least I could do was give her a job. Unfortunately, I don't think she's very good at it…"

Amy interrupted, realising that letting Celia continue talking would end up with them still there at New Year's. "Well, thank you for you time, Ms. Donald."

"Celia, please," Celia told her as Amy and PJ left.

PJ frowned as they headed back to the car. "So someone connected to Donald Real Estate is breaking into houses," he mused. His eyes lit up as he looked to Amy with a smile. "How would you feel about staking out Dash's house tomorrow night?"

* * *

Christmas Day dawned over Mt. Thomas as a humid, overcast day that held the promise of rain – and lots of it. An occasional roll of thunder or flash of lightning in the distance told the town what it was in for.

For Mark Jacobs, the day was making him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Christmas had not turned out the way he had planned. Freya had decided to spend her Christmas break with her uni friends in Melbourne. Mark wasn't too surprised. They had never been particularly close before Penny had walked out and getting to know one another was never going to be easy.

Besides, even Mark didn't relish the thought of spending Christmas in his dingy little flat. Part of the divorce settlement had been selling the house and splitting it fifty-fifty. Unfortunately, house prices had gone up a lot since Mark had last visited a real estate agent and had been rather limited in what he could afford. The two-bedroom flat was all he could manage. It wouldn't be too bad if he decorated it properly, he supposed, but it hardly seemed worth the effort. He was the only one who was going to see it anyway.

After a quick Christmas phone call to Freya, Mark dressed hurriedly and headed out into the living room. A photograph caught his eye and, for a moment, his heart almost physically ached. Seeing the forty year old photograph of him and his brother brought back memories that he didn't particularly relish.

So, grabbing his umbrella, he decided to head over to the Imperial Hotel and see how Chris and Ringo were spending their Christmas.

* * *

Adam was not holding up much better. It was hard for him to watch Dash fuss over Phoebe opening her presents without thinking of the little boy who would never again open his Christmas presents. But, knowing that Phoebe didn't know about Wade and not wanting to worry Dash, he put on a brave face for their sakes and forced a smile. He knew why his son's memory was hitting him harder this Christmas than most. Tomorrow would be the fifth anniversary of his death.

He tried not to think about it too much. He had vowed to enjoy this Christmas – the first with his daughter – and he intended to do that. He knew Wade would never have wanted him to be miserable for the rest of his life and, besides, Phoebe deserved a good Christmas.

* * *

It was Christmas night when PJ and Amy found themselves sitting in Dash and Adam's living room, trying to hide their impatience while they waited for their thief to appear. In the end, they settled down on the couch and watched some daggy Christmas movie on Channel Seven. Amy snuggled closer to PJ as they heard the sound of rain on Dash's roof.

"These kinds of Christmas movies used to be a family tradition when I was a kid," Amy told him with a half-laugh. "Brendan and Damian would wake me up at about five in the morning to open presents, then we'd spend the rest of the day watching crappy Christmas movies. Occasionally we'd have a water fight in the backyard."

PJ laughed. "The Hashams were a bit insane at Christmas, too," he told her. "Mum would take us to Christmas mass and then we'd spend the rest of the day surrounded by Hasham relatives that we didn't even know." He grinned as his eyes became distant. "Christmas is always so magical when you're a kid. It's sort of sad how it loses its appeal."

Amy nodded sadly as she looked over to the tree. Dash had apparently gone all out. It was a large tree, covered almost completely in coloured baubles, tinsel and an assortment of Santa decorations, with a star topping it off. It made her smile a little. "You know this is our second anniversary, don't you?" she asked, turning her emerald gaze to meet PJ's eyes.

He nodded as he tightened his grasp on her and kissed her forehead gently. "I know," he told her with a smile. With a gentle hand, he swept the hair from her neck and ran a hand along the tiny trace of a scar. Over the last two years, it had faded to the point that it could only be seen by someone who knew to look for it. Amy flinched a little at the memory of the attack. "I finally worked out what mattered that night."

She offered him a half-smile as she raised a hand to his to lower it from the scar. "We've come a long way," she reminded him. "Everyone has. Things seemed so much different then."

"That's because they were," he replied, kissing her cheek tenderly. "But the past makes us who we are. Truth is, we wouldn't change it for anything."

She smiled as she kissed his lips, only to be disturbed by footsteps outside. They shared a puzzled stare, until they heard the sound of a ladder being placed against the side of the house. Amy and PJ climbed up off the couch and waited, sharing a smile, until they heard their burglar climbing down the chimney. They pressed themselves against the wall either side of the fireplace and waited.

The thief didn't notice them at first. In fact, he didn't notice them at all until PJ pounced, grabbing him in one smooth gesture. He struggled for a moment, before realising that he was gone and giving up.

Amy stepped forward, arms folded across her chest and a grin on her face. "Well, hello Santa," she said. "How nice of you to drop in."

PJ pulled back the balaclava and for a moment was speechless. They'd been expecting a man and their thief was actually a woman with dark curls. It was Vivien Donald.

"Or should it be Mrs. Claus," PJ added and led Vivien to the unmarked police car parked out the front of the house next door.

* * *

Vivien didn't speak as PJ turned on the tape recorder in the station's interview room. "Interview commenced between Senior Detective Hasham and Vivien Donald on the 25th of December at the Mt. Thomas Police Station." Smiling over at Amy, he added. "Also present is Senior Detective Fox." Abandoning the tape recorder to sit down next to Amy, PJ shrugged. "So you want to explain why Senior Detective Fox and I caught you sneaking down someone else's chimney?"

"I was just dropping in on a friend…" Vivien began, but didn't get a chance to finish.

"Well, that's funny," Amy interrupted, "because Senior Constable McKinley has never heard of you or invited you around. And she certainly didn't give you permission to enter her house via the chimney."

Vivien shook her head. "I don't have to say anything," she told them firmly.

PJ raised an eyebrow before shrugging. "If that's what you want," he replied. "Vivien Donald, I am charging you with burglary…"

Panic flashed through Vivien's face. "Wait, wait!" she cried. "You can't just charge me!"

A half-smile crossed Amy's face. "We can," she pointed out. "We caught you in the act. I'm willing to put money on your prints matching those at the scenes of the other burglaries. You have access to your aunt's records. You could find out about these houses easily."

PJ looked at her sympathetically. "It can't be easy, having your father drink away your savings."

Vivien's expression became pained and tears shimmered in her eyes as she met PJ's gaze. "Dad went right off the rails after Mum died," she explained. "Losing her hurt him too much. The only thing that made him feel better was getting off his face. It meant he could forget for a little while."

"Losing a parent is never easy," PJ sympathised. "My father died when I was a teenager. It was hard."

Vivien nodded. "I missed Mum," she whispered as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "I missed her so much. And then Dad had to go and drink everything away. Not mention bloody Aunty Celia thinking she's doing me a favour."

"You didn't want to go into real estate?" Amy queried.

"No!" Vivien snapped as she combed dark curls back from her eyes. "I wanted to be journalist. But Aunty Celia wouldn't hear a thing of it. She told me not to be so bloody stupid and to take advantage of a good thing. I think she just wanted an heir because she just realised she'd never bothered procreating."

PJ nodded understandingly. "So is that why you starting breaking into houses? To get the money to do what you wanted to do?"

Vivien was nodding and agreeing with PJ before she realised what she was doing. Realising that there was no way out, she began explaining. "Getting access to the files was easy. Aunty Celia doesn't really know how the use the computer. She's been paying people to deal with it for years. Then…all I had to do was ask around. In a town like Mt. Thomas, at least someone seems to know what everyone else is up to. Chris Riley was a good source." Seeing the look on PJ's face, she quickly added, "She didn't know what I was doing. I just worked the conversation around to the topic and she let it slip. It's not her fault."

"What about the wallet?" Amy asked. She pointed to the wallet and list which were both in their own evidence bags on the table.

Vivien sighed despondently. "Someone must have nicked it out of my handbag. I didn't think you'd work out what the list was, but just in case you did, I didn't come forward to report it missing."

"But you still went ahead with the robbery?" Amy asked in disbelief, shaking her head.

Vivien shrugged. "I guess I got too cocky. I never thought you'd work out the chimney thing. That's why I did it. That and I thought it was a little funny."

* * *

Amy was dealing with Celia Donald in the reception area when Vivien was correcting PJ's spelling of her name on the charge sheet.

"No 'A'," she told him with a half-smile. He simply stared at her blankly. "It's Vivien with an 'E'. As in Vivien Leigh."

PJ raised an eyebrow. "Vivien Leigh?"

Vivien laughed a little. "Yeah, you know…_Gone with the Wind_, _A Streetcar Named Desire_…must be before your time, then."

He returned her laugh. "I do know who Vivien Leigh is; you might be surprised to know."

Amy had appeared in the doorway and smiled at PJ's comment. "Oh, I don't know, Peej," she said. "I thought your knowledge of Hollywood stars stopped at Bruce Willis."

PJ and Vivien turned to look at her. PJ's grin broadened at the playful twinkle in Amy's eyes, while Vivien's faded at the sight of her aunt.

Celia sighed as she looked at her niece. "I'm sorry," she said. The little tears in her eyes conveyed her sincerity. "You should have just told me to shove it instead of doing this."

A hint of a smile played on Vivien's lips. "You'd have understood?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart, Viv," Celia told her as she wrapped an arm around her niece. "I do love you."

Recognising Celia and Vivien's need for privacy, Amy and PJ slipped out of the interview room. They shared a smile. Even experienced coppers like themselves loved a happy ending – or as happy as it got in their job.

* * *

The rain kept up through the night. By ten, a severe storm warning had been issued, although a little late for the residents of Mt. Thomas. Christmas night and the morning of Boxing Day saw the officers dragged out of bed at all hours, adding calls to fallen trees and debris breaking windows that really should have been dealt with by the SES. But they did it anyway. It seemed that in Mt. Thomas, the police would always be the first preference in times of need.

Despite the howling wind outside, the officers found themselves at work on Boxing Day. The power had been taken out, but the phone lines were still working and so the calls kept coming. Dash and Ringo barely had time to sit down all morning.

Nick didn't come in until midday and was passing a weary hand across his eyes as he flopped down at his desk. Amy was sitting at Dash's desk, a torch lying at her right arm to compensate for the lack of lights and the dark stormy sky outside. She smiled at him. "You seem tired," she told him.

He laughed a little as he tried to shake the water from his hair. "Yeah, the boys were up half the night playing their new Nintendo Wii or whatever it's called."

"So Christmas went well?"

He thought for a moment and nodded. "Yeah, it was good," he replied. He laughed again. "Only complaint we got from the twins this year was that Zoe had refused to buy them some computer game they'd begged for. She reckoned it was too violent and was going to affect their behaviour."

Amy chuckled. "Video games don't affect kids' behaviour," she told him. "If they did, I'd spend my free time running around darkened rooms, munching pills and listening to repetitive music."

Nick stared at her blankly before a knowing smile spread across his face. "Ah, Pac-Man!" he exclaimed. "Foxtrot, I must admit I didn't pick you for a video game player."

She grinned. "Hey, I grew up as part of the golden age of the video arcade, remember?" she reminded him. Nick chuckled and Amy looked to him thoughtfully. "So where are the boys now?"

"At a mate's place," he replied. "Zo had to go to work too."

Amy nodded and went to head back to her office, only for the phone to ring. She groaned as she grabbed it. "Mt. Thomas Police Station, Senior Detective Fox speaking…" As she listened, Amy's smile faded quickly. "Look, ma'am, you'll have to speak a little slower, I can't quite understand…oh God, okay…we'll be out there as soon as we can…Yep, just hang in there, okay? Bye."

As Amy hung up the phone, Nick fixed her with an inquisitive stare. "What's happened?"

She looked at him with a pained expression on her face. "Your boys have gone missing."

* * *

The station was empty when Mark emerged from the mess room to find the phone ringing. He cursed under his breath as he grabbed it from the receiver. "Mt. Thomas Police Station, Senior Sergeant…" He paused as he recognised the voice. He'd recognise it anywhere. "Chris?"

Chris sounded upset and panicked and Mark couldn't say no to her request for help. As soon as he'd calmed her down a little, he hung up the phone and raced out of the station without stopping to transfer the phones through to St. Davids or even leave a note for his colleagues for when they got back.

Chris was soaked by the time Mark arrived, holding his hands above his head as though they might somehow keep the rain out. She was tearing down the stairs, carrying a bucket of water. "The bloody ceiling's leaking in room five," she lamented. Her eyes were red, but it was hard to tell whether or not she'd been crying because tears mingled with rainwater. "One of the windows is gone…the place is bloody flooding."

Mark gently took the bucket from her hands and grabbed her shoulders. It seemed to calm Chris down a little, but did nothing for the pounding of his heart. Ever since the wedding, the mere sight of Chris kept sending his heart into a flutter. He couldn't quite understand why. The only person who had ever had anything near this effect on him was Piper Morris.

"It'll be alright," he told her gently, running a hand along her cheek to try to dry it. She simply stared at him from beyond her limp, water-straightened curls with wide, almost disbelieving blue eyes.

She broke away from his hold and Mark drew in a deep breath to steady himself. Each howl of wind, each crash of thunder brought back memories that he had never told anyone about, a fear that he had never known before or since.

"Okay," he declared. He headed over to close the door and, realising that the wind wouldn't let it stay closed, pushed a table up against it. He then motioned to the smashed window. Either wind or flying debris had taken it out. "Is there a mattress I can borrow from upstairs?"

Chris frowned for a moment, a little flustered, before nodding. "Yeah, I suppose you could use the one from room five, it's already soaked…"

She had scarcely finished before Mark was bolting up the stairs. He returned with the water-logged mattress. With a little help from Chris, he shoved it up against the window and used another couple of tables to keep it there.

"That ought to hold," he mused, before looking over to Chris. It was only then that adrenaline seemed to relinquish its hold on her and she collapsed back against the bar, shivering. He was at her side in a heartbeat, wrapping her up in one of the towels she had brought down from upstairs to try to clean up with. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly. "You're shivering."

She nodded firmly as she tried to wriggle out of Mark's hold. She'd made up her mind not to fall in love again and now it seemed her heart was doing its hardest to change her mind. "I'm fine," she lied. But she knew she wasn't. Mark knew too and headed around to the other side of the bar to pour her a glass of brandy. "I hope you're going to pay for that."

He pushed the glass into her hand and she took it gratefully. The alcohol seemed to help warm her a little, but her wet clothes were still winning.

"Maybe I should run you over to the hospital," Mark suggested, his eyes still regarding her in concern. "You're still shivering."

She fixed him with a pointed stare that silenced Mark. He got the impression that she'd happily fight him if he made that suggestion again. It was part of the fiery nature of hers that he had fallen in love with.

* * *

Tara Hobson was waiting in the living room, wringing her hands when Amy and Nick arrived. She was barely able to get up to let the two police officers in. While Nick seemed too much in shock to function properly, Amy wasn't so impaired and noted everything about the little living room. It was full of photographs of Tara, her husband and their two children – a boy of about Nick's sons' age and a girl about the same age as Dash's daughter.

"About what time did you notice they were missing?" Amy asked as she sat down in the chair opposite the couch where Nick and Tara sat, each looking as worried as the other.

Tara looked up at her, a little flustered. "Not long after Zoe dropped Travis and Trevor off," she finally managed to choke out as she began chewing on a fingernail. "I couldn't find the twins or my kids. I checked the yard, everywhere. They're gone."

"And what are your little ones' names?" Amy asked.

Nick replied before Tara could. "Cody is eight – the same age as my boys. Bianca is four."

Amy nodded and wrote the names down on her notepad. "Do you have a recent photo we could borrow?"

Tara pointed to one on the coffee table next to Amy's chair. The detective picked it up and stared at the little faces looking back at her. She shook herself back to attention and offered Tara a reassuring smile. "We'll do everything we possibly can to find them, Mrs. Hobson. I promise."

Tara fixed her with an agonised stare. "Will that be enough, Senior Detective Fox?"

Amy knew that this was the time she was supposed to instil Tara with the utmost confidence in the police, but she simply couldn't. Not when Tara's eyes told her that she already knew the truth, and certainly not when Nick's piercing blue eyes were seeing right through to her soul.

"I don't know."

* * *

Zoe felt the colour drain from her face as Nick spoke. She could barely speak enough to finish the call. The whole world suddenly seemed to be moving way too fast and she just wanted to return to when things were normal. She was trembling by the time Adam entered her office, his hands in the pockets of his plain black pants.

"Zoe?" he asked with worried eyes. "What did Nick want?" When Zoe didn't reply, Adam's mind began to whirl. "Has something happened? Has someone been hurt?"

For a moment Zoe couldn't reply. Finally, she looked to him with a broken expression on her face. "The boys are missing," she explained. "And so are the kids they were with."

Adam nodded slowly before fixing her a sympathetic expression. Inside, he felt as though his stomach was tying itself into knots. It seemed unthinkable to him that this should happen on the fifth anniversary of Wade's death. And, as Zoe looked into his eyes, he knew that she was thinking the same thing. Other than Dash, Zoe was the only person Adam had trusted with the story of his son.

Zoe suddenly seemed to come to life. She grabbed her car keys from her desk and hurried off down the corridor. Adam called after her. "Where are you going?" he asked.

She stared at him pointedly. "I have to find my sons."

Adam raced after her. "Then I'm coming with you."

* * *

They seemed to drive around aimlessly. Neither of them knew where to start looking. Even Adam, with all his prior police experience, wasn't sure what to do. It didn't seem likely that the kids would have gone down to the local store to buy lollies. Even eight year old boys weren't fond of this kind of weather.

In the end, their lead jumped out at them. Zoe only just saw Cody Hobson in time to stop the car to avoid hitting him. He stood in the middle of the road, his t-shirt clinging to his skin and his blonde hair plastered over his head. He was crying and yelling and waving his arms around and raced over to Zoe as soon as she had opened her car door.

"They're down there! They're down there!" he shouted, grabbing Zoe's hand and trying to forcibly drag her towards something off the main road. The visibility was poor, but she thought she just made out a little girl clinging to a tiny, shaking kitten a few metres away.

"Who's down where?" Adam asked, crouching down to Cody's level.

Cody stared at him as though he was stupid. "Travis and Trevor!" he cried. "Bi saw this kitten through the window and went after it and they decided to come help me find her. She was in the drain. We managed to get her out, but then there was this big wave and…"

Zoe didn't stop to hear the rest. She pulled her arm free from Cody's grasp and raced over towards the storm water drain. She was screaming her sons' names, but the sounds were nearly drowned out by the thunder and rain.

Adam followed her over to the drain entrance. It was a hole in the ground with a ladder leading down to the rushing, swirling water below. It brought back nightmares, memories that he had tried so hard to suppress. Suddenly, he could hear Wade's desperate cries again as though it had only been yesterday and not five years ago.

Before he knew what was happening, Zoe was climbing down the ladder.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, snapping back to attention.

She fixed him with a stare that said more than words ever could and carefully began to make her way along the drain. Before long, she was out of sight.

Adam felt his heart in his throat. This was everything he was scared of. This was why he never went to the beach anymore, why he gave even swimming pools a wide berth. Water had ripped his little boy from his arms and had haunted his nightmares for five years. The idea of going after Zoe was terrifying, but he knew he couldn't do anything else but follow her. Just as Wade had needed him, the twins needed him now.

He turned to Cody, who was standing next to his sister and looked simply stunned. Adam grabbed his mobile out of his pocket and checked it. Despite the rain, it still worked. He pushed it into Cody's hand.

"Do you think that you can be really brave for me right now?" he asked. At Cody's nod, Adam pointed to the phone. "I need you to call someone for me. A man named Nick. His number is in that phone. Tell him to come here now and bring help."

Cody nodded and opened the flip-phone. He began to search the phone book. Adam cast him one last encouraging glance before lowering himself into the hole and climbing down into the swirling, angry, dark water below him.

* * *

Nick was trying to clear a broken tree limb from the road in front of their car when his mobile rang. Amy looked at it for a moment, not quite comprehending that it was actually ringing. She was too cold and too much in shock to really take anything in. She was already soaked to the bone.

She grabbed Nick's mobile and read the name on-screen. It was Adam. She looked to Nick for a moment, contemplating calling him back, before deciding to answer it herself. "Adam?"

"No." It was a child's voice that replied. "It's Cody Hobson. You're not Nick."

Amy frowned, a little confused and relieved at the same time. "No, I'm Amy Fox, I'm a Detective. We're looking for you. Your mum's worried about you."

"Dr. Hamilton and the man with her are down in the drain," he explained in a breathless, hysterical voice that nearly blew out Amy's eardrum. "Trevor and Travis are down in the drain…a big wave took them away…"

Panic rose within her and she felt a lump in her throat. "Where are you Cody?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level and calm. She needed the boy to remain calm enough to talk to her. "Which drain are you talking about?"

"The one…" Cody was sobbing now, Amy realised as she tried to comb her dripping hair back from her eyes. "The one near the main road near the National Park. Mum and Dad always said never to go near there, but we had to find Bianca…"

"Is Bianca okay?"

"She's okay, we got her out in time," Cody replied, hiccoughing a little. "Please hurry."

Amy nodded, before remembering that Cody couldn't see her. "We'll be there as soon as we possibly can, promise," she vowed. She reassured Cody again and hung up just as Nick returned to the car.

He recognised the look in her eyes. "Oh God," he mumbled.

She looked to him before her auto-pilot took over. "Just drive, Nick," she told him firmly. "I'll tell you where to go. Zoe and Adam have found them."

* * *

Chris poured herself another glass of brandy. It was helping, if only with keeping her nerves under control. As she put the lid back on the bottle, she noticed Mark was standing over near one of the unbroken windows, staring out into the storm with eyes that shone with a pain Chris couldn't quite explain or understand. She poured him a glass too.

"You should come away from there," she told him as he turned to her. "I don't particularly want to end up with an unconscious man on my hands if another window goes."

Mark forced a smile for her sake and crossed the room to her. He took the glass and gulped the alcohol down in a single mouthful. It didn't really help. His problem went much deeper than the cold. But he thanked her anyway before sitting down on the floor, his clothes already too wet for the flooded floor to have any effect.

As he leant back against the bar, Chris sat down beside him. She looked at him worriedly. Something about the look in his eyes concerned her. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

He didn't look at her. He couldn't. He knew that if he met her gaze even just once, he'd end up spilling everything to her. But, somehow, the idea of telling Chris didn't seem so bad. Maybe he had hung onto the fear for too long.

"Mark?" Chris' concern had deepened and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You can talk to me you know."

He acted as though he hadn't heard her. "I might get another drink," he said, but as he tried to climb to his feet, he slipped and fell back against the bar again.

Chris looked at him sympathetically. "I think you should talk to me," she told him. She gave a thoughtful shrug. "Sometimes the barmaid's better than the booze."

Mark looked to her and forced a smile at her. But the smile wavered as he met her gaze. He had been right first time – that look was going to make him tell her everything. "Storms scare me a little," he finally admitted. "That's all."

He should have known that wasn't going to satisfy Chris. "Why?" she asked, pulling the towel tighter around her shoulders.

"You'd remember Cyclone Tracy, wouldn't you?" he asked quietly as little tears pricked up in his eyes. "You would have only been a kid then, but you might remember."

Chris nodded. She did remember waking up that Christmas and coming downstairs to find half of Mt. Thomas staring, transfixed, at the news reports on the television in the Parlour. She remembered the news footage of the devastation and she definitely remembered the stunned look on Tom Croydon's face when she had finally convinced him that she was old enough to handle whatever had happened up there.

"I remember," she replied, shuffling closer to them so that their bodies were just centimetres apart.

Mark nodded at her. He sighed despondently at the memories that were now tumbling out. "My older brother, Kevin, had moved up to Darwin a few years before," he explained. "He said it was a boom town. He used to always say how much he loved it. The only thing he didn't love was the heat."

She suddenly worked out where Mark was going with his story. "You were up there visiting him at Christmas 1974, weren't you?" she asked hesitantly, almost dreading the answer.

"Yeah," he finally told her, nodding slowly. "I had Christmas holidays. I wanted to see this place Kevin kept going on about. I went up a couple of weeks before Christmas. And, truth is, I liked the place. I mean, apart from the heat." He paused for a moment, a half-smile crossing his face as he continued to stare into Chris' mesmerising eyes. "I remember when they first put out the cyclone warnings. I worried. I'd never seen anything like it before, but no one else was fazed. Kevin told me that they'd had a cyclone warning not long before, but it had just turned away and gone out to sea. Besides, it's a little hard to be scared of something named after your great-aunt."

Chris smiled a little at Mark's comment. But it faded as the pain returned to his eyes anew. "What happened?"

Mark sighed as he let his head fall back against the side of the bar. His mind was spinning was noise, but it wasn't the noise of the storm raging around them. It was in memory of a very different storm many years before. He tried to shake himself back to the present, but it was hard.

"We were at a Christmas party," he explained, "but I made Kevin leave early. It was getting way too windy. It was probably a good thing we left when we did, because the wind was already so strong that it practically pushed our car back to his place. We thought being inside would be enough, but then the windows and louvres went. We followed the instructions on the radio and hid in the bathroom." The memories were making his breathing uneven and his voice strained. "And, ah…I guess that alright for a while, but the house was just going completely around us. But then this bloody piece of metal came from nowhere and impaled Kevin."

Chris' mouth dropped open in horror and she found tears of her own playing in her eyes. "Oh God, Mark…"

"It was pitch-black, I couldn't see anything," he continued, trembling a little now from a mixture of the cold and the old fear. "The house has completely gone around me. I had to cling to the stair railing to get outside." He began to gesture the shape of his brother's house with his hands. "There was this little brick shed thing under the house. I thought I could hide in there, but one half had already gone. I couldn't find the car. I couldn't find anything in the dark. All I could do was crawl up against the one remaining wall and pray to God that it would be over soon." He stared at Chris with an expression that almost bewildered Chris in its intensity. "I thought that we were the only ones with the problem, Chris. I lost track of time. I just kept praying for light so I could find the house next door and get inside." He sighed as he composed himself again. "I was okay behind that wall during the first wind. It was after it changed direction that things got worse."

Chris was tempted to ask him how it was possible for things to get worse than a dead brother, a disintegrated house and a cyclone, but she didn't. She knew her place in this confession. Mark was telling her because he knew she'd just listen and let him talk. She reached out and wrapped her arms around his and let her head rest on his shoulder. It seemed to comfort him and he managed to continue.

"I couldn't move during the eye. I was just too scared. I know some people were moving though. It was so quiet…you could hear people screaming and crying and calling out for people. Some people actually thought it was over. Some of those people were caught out when the second wind hit. Some of died because they'd left their hiding places." He looked at her and reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek. He didn't want her crying on his account. "The second wind sent all the debris at me. It just kept cutting me and cutting me…"

He paused, thinking for a moment before pulling himself free of Chris' grasp. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt. As soon as it was off his shoulder, he heard her let out a little strangled cry.

Chris hadn't been prepared for what Mark had shown her. His whole torso and upper arms were covered in faint white scars. She raised a tentative hand to trace the longest one. It ran across the whole width of his upper back and most of his upper right arm. He flinched a little, but not because it caused him pain.

For a moment, she was rendered breathless. When she finally remembered to breath, she choked out, "Oh, Mark."

"When daylight came, I realised how badly I was hurt. Some of the cuts even went down to the bone. It took me half a day to find the hospital. Without any landmarks or street signs, even life-long residents were lost. When I got there, they were out of anaesthetic. All they could do was clean the wounds and stitch them up as best they could and put me on one of the evacuation flights. I was just lucky I got one to Melbourne." He offered her a half-hearted smile. "I recovered. I went back to work. I got on with my life. And I've never spoken about this since."

Chris raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Not even to Penny?" she asked in a whisper. "I mean, she must have seen the scars…"

Mark nodded slowly. "She did notice," he admitted, "but I couldn't tell her. It just…didn't feel right. I told her they were from an accident. I think she assumed it was a car accident and never asked again." He sighed despondently. "I always sort of hoped she would. I always sort of wanted to tell someone."

Chris smiled at him encouragingly. "Well, now you have," she told him gently. "Do you feel any better?"

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "A little," he decided. "I think that it has something to do with the fact that it was you I told."

She nodded slowly, before suddenly realising she was actually cold. She was freezing. She hadn't noticed how cold she'd gotten due to her horror at Mark's story. Mark noticed too and reached out to pull her into his arms and against his bare chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked, running a hand along her cheek and brushing damp curls back from her face. "You're shivering more than anyone else I've ever met."

She nodded. "I wish you'd stop saying that," she mumbled and, before she even realised what was happening, she was kissing him hard and he was kissing her back.

* * *

Amy couldn't keep up with Nick as he raced over to the storm drain. He didn't even stop to talk to Cody and Bianca. Amy did though. She reassured them as best she could – and wasn't very convincing – and took them over to the police four wheel drive to get them out of the rain. They were thoroughly soaked and the kitten in Bianca's arms was simply terrified.

By the time she returned to the drain, Nick was already gone. She could feel her heart in her throat as she looked down into the dark, gushing water. She didn't think she – let alone the twins – stood a chance in that. But she didn't give it a second thought and climbed down after him. Nick was her friend and so were Zoe and Adam and she could leave them or the boys down there without at least trying to save them.

The water nearly swept her away the minute she lowered herself into it. She had to grab hold of the ladder rungs to stay upright. It was deeper than she'd imagined and darker too. She was suddenly very glad she was taller than average, or otherwise she would have been underwater by now.

She didn't know where to start. She tried wading against the rush, but got nowhere and instead tried to go with it. She kept one hand against the side of the drain, hoping it might stop her from getting lost down there. After a few metres, her hand hit thin air and she realised she could hear yelling.

The drain branched off and Amy could just make out a grate at the end. There was a tiny figure clinging to the grate, having climbed up near the top to avoid the rising water. He was crying out for help. Amy waded through the water towards him. It was one of the Schultz twins, but she couldn't tell which.

His crying became more frantic as Amy reached out to touch his back. "I want my Mummy!" he screamed.

"It's okay!" Amy replied, almost screaming to be heard above the water. "It's Amy! Remember me?" He nodded slowly. The water lifted her from her feet for a moment and threw her up against the grate hard. Her body cried out in pain, but she pushed the sensation back. There were bigger things to worry about. "Okay, mate, just grab onto me, okay?"

"I can't!" he cried. "I want my Mum and Dad!"

A rush of water went past and Amy swallowed a mouthful. She began to cough. "It'll be okay, alright? You've got to grab onto me, okay? We'll get out of here! Your Mum and Dad are down here and they'll find your brother, but you've got to come with me, okay?"

He stared at her with teary eyes for a long moment before nodding. "'Kay," he finally managed and wrapped his arms around Amy. Holding onto him was harder than Amy had thought. She'd underestimated how much an eight year old boy could weigh, especially one who had inherited Nick's tallness. But, somehow, she managed to battle the rush back to the main drain.

She wished more than anything else that everything would quieten down just a little. Between the water and the boy's screams, she couldn't hear herself think. Everything seemed to be moving far too fast and she could barely hang on. Fighting the water back to the ladder was harder than it had been first time around and she just couldn't move anywhere. She knew she had to – the water was up to her shoulders – but just keeping the boy's head above water was taking all her strength.

She just couldn't fight the water. A new rush came through, knocking her off her feet and pushing her under. In the shock, she had lost her breath and now was swallowing water as her lungs desperately tried to find air. She couldn't even try to swim, not with the boy in her arms. But even that didn't last long, because the water ripped him from her arms.

For a moment, her heart stopped and she forgot momentarily that her own life was in danger. She wanted to cry and scream, but she couldn't do anything. Her own predicament returned sharply and she tried to fight the water, but it was no use. Her chest was hurting from the lack of air and she was getting dizzy. Her energy was going and she just couldn't fight anymore.

The last thing she could remember before unconsciousness claimed her was being thrown against the side of the drain and choking out PJ's name.

* * *

When she came to, Amy was coughing harder than she ever had before, sending water gushing onto the grass beside her head. She was lying down and the rain was hitting her worn and bruised body hard. It took her a few minutes before she realised that someone was holding her shoulders tightly and leaning over her.

"PJ," she managed between coughs.

The voice that replied wasn't PJ's, but familiar all the same. "It's not PJ, Amy. It's Adam."

Sure enough, her vision began to focus and she could see Adam's face against the dark clouds above. She blinked a few times to make her eyes adjust. After the darkness of the drain, even the overcast sky was too bright for her.

Her memory came back to her with sudden clarity. She tried to jump up, only for Adam to have to catch her to stop her from falling back down again. Adam pulled her against his chest to keep her upright.

"Hey, take it easy," he warned her. "You nearly drowned down there."

She shook her head. "I had one of the twins," she choked out. "I don't know which one. I couldn't hold onto him. The water ripped him right out of my arms…"

Listening to Amy made Adam recall Wade's death. It was all he could do to hold back the memories so he could keep it together.

"It's alright," he reassured her gently. "Nick and Zoe will find them." Even as he said it, he knew he was lying. Between being down there himself and the tsunami, he was well aware of how futile fighting water could be. As it was, he'd never quite understand how he had managed to see Amy and get her back onto solid ground. "I'd say you've still got a little bit of water on your lungs, but you should be okay. I've called an ambulance."

Amy didn't have much choice but to accept Adam's reassurances and stay still. But she knew she wouldn't go in that ambulance.

* * *

Things weren't much better for Nick. He was taller than Amy and heavier too, but that only offered a little more stability. He had to fight his way through the water, holding his arms out wide. Like Amy, he kept one hand on the side.

He took a different branch off the drain. It led to a rusty gate which was bolted together with a thick chain. His eyes lit up as he realised that Zoe was there on his side of the gate, her back to him as she struggled with it. His heart sank just as quickly when he realised that her arm was covered in blood and it was trapped in the gate.

"Zoe!" he called, yelling to be heard above the din. Zoe seemed to hear him, but didn't reply. As Nick got closer, he could hear her sobbing. "Zo! Oh, thank God, Zo…" He was so relieved to find her that for a moment, he forgot about the twins and Adam and Amy.

"I had Travis!" she told him between sobs. "He was on the other side of the gate. I had him…but the water washed him away!" She nearly collapsed against the gate.

Nick felt his heart pounding more heavily in his chest. He had to fight the fear to get Zoe out. "It's okay, we'll find them. They're tough, they'll be okay." He grabbed both sides of the gate and jarred them hard. He had to break the chain to get Zoe's arm out.

She let out a cry of pain. "Nick!"

"Sorry, Zo," he apologised. "But I've got to break this chain somehow. Okay?"

Zoe nodded reluctantly and bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out. She had to close her eyes tight when Nick tried to force the gate again and again. He was getting increasingly frustrated, swearing and yelling in anger.

In the end, it wasn't Nick that freed her. A new rush of water came sweeping down the pipe. It was stronger than the last and threw Nick up against the gate as the chain finally broke and it swung open. He clung onto the gate desperately to avoid being swept away and reached out to grab for Zoe. For a moment, he thought he had hold of her hand. But he'd missed it by centimetres.

As he watched her disappear in the swirling water, instinct kicked in. If nothing else, he had to save his wife. He could survive anything just as long as he had Zoe there beside him.

He found the strength to battle the water back to the ladder and clambered up. Adam helped him up the last couple of rungs. He took a few moments to look around himself. Amy was sitting in the front seat of the police four wheel drive, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Even in his daze, he could see how bad she looked.

But anger overrode concern and he grabbed Adam's shirtfront. "What the bloody hell are you just doing standing here?!" he demanded.

Adam tried to wriggle free of Nick's grasp, but couldn't. His old colleague was too big for him. He waved an arm towards Amy. "She nearly drowned down there, Nick," he explained. "I was keeping an eye on her until the ambos got here. She's at risk of secondary drowning and I didn't want to leave the two kids with a woman at risk of that."

That seemed to calm Nick down and he nodded. He pointed to the drain. "I took the first branch to the left," he told Adam. "Where does that come out?"

Adam thought for a moment, desperately trying to remember. Finally, it came to him. "This way…" he mused, taking off through the muddied scrub. Nick followed closely behind. Amy watched them go with tired eyes before climbing out of the car and heading after them, nearly losing her footing several times through fatigue and clumsiness. The blanket that had only minutes ago been keeping her warm in the dry interior of the police car was now soaked and lay abandoned on a tree branch.

Adam finally stopped at a little creek. Water was gushing out of the end of the storm drain, rushing over the three figures lying in the mud. Nick shoved past him and dropped to his knees at Zoe's side. He gently shook her shoulder, fearing the worst, and felt his heart start to beat again as she stirred. She was covered in blood from the arm injury and coughing from the water she'd swallowed, but she was still breathing. Carefully, he pulled her up into his arms and carried her back to Adam.

He set her down again on the ground and stayed with her for a moment before drawing in a deep breath and turning back to the drain. A few metres away from where Zoe had been lying were the boys, Travis lying half on top of his brother. Pure shock and terror stopped Nick from running over to them. Deep inside, part of him already knew what he was going to find when he stooped over the bodies of his boys and checked their pulses.

He finally reached them and checked them over. They weren't breathing. There was no pulse. Their bodies were cold and Nick immediately knew. His little boys were gone. All the reassurances had meant nothing. Yet, he couldn't cry. He was too exhausted physically and mentally to cry.

Somewhere in the distance, they could hear sirens. Adam closed his eyes tightly as he held back the tears. Help was too late. As it always seemed to be when it really counted. He left Zoe and jogged back through the scrub to where the ambulance was parking.

Meanwhile, Amy had been watching, feeling as though none of this could be anything but a dream. She felt dizzy, had an awful headache and her throat felt raw from the effort of coughing. But, somehow, neither her pain nor Nick and Zoe's were real.

She hadn't realised she was on auto-pilot until she collapsed down into the mud, bringing her knees close to her chest as she watched Nick clean the dirt from his sons' faces. She caught a glimpse of his eyes for just a second and they scared her. They weren't the piercing blue eyes of the Nick Schultz she knew.

_And I see no bravery, no bravery  
__In your eyes anymore  
__Only sadness_

* * *

PJ, Dash and Ringo were in the muster room when Amy and Adam finally arrived. The trio had returned from the various non-police-work related call outs that had occupied them for most of the afternoon and were now cleaning up the puddle below the leaking roof. The station, like the pub, had been ill-prepared for heavy rain.

They were sharing a joke at Ringo's expense when the two entered, both wrapped up in layers of the thick blankets that the ambulance officers had given them. None of the others noticed their appearance until Amy finally spoke up. "PJ?"

PJ's eyes darted to her and immediately widened with concern. He hurried over to her – nearly slipping on the puddle in the process – and combed the damp hair back from her eyes. There was a darkness in them that he couldn't begin to describe. "Amy?" he asked, looking her up and down. He let his gaze flicker to Adam, who was being fussed over by Dash. "What the hell happened?"

Adam didn't reply. His throat felt as though it had closed up. Instead, he led Dash away to the mess room and left Amy alone to deal with the questioning.

Ringo didn't move from where he knelt on the floor, wringing the towel he had been using in his hands. His knuckles were white from squeezing it too hard. "Amy?" he asked, his voice quieter than PJ's. "What happened?"

She glanced to him briefly before looking back to PJ. She suddenly realised just how exhausted and sore she was as she fell into his surprisingly warm chest. After so long of being wet and cold, she had forgotten that it was actually supposed to be summer.

The surprise was written all over his face. He held her, blue eyes shining as his mind whirled with the effort of trying to work out what happened. It was at that moment he heard Dash's cry from the mess room. It confirmed his worst suspicions. Someone wasn't coming home again.

"Who?" he asked quietly, trying to suppress the tears that were threatening to spill out over his cheeks. He didn't allow himself to try to work out who it was. Thinking of any of his friends as a corpse hurt too much and he couldn't make himself feel anymore pain than necessary.

It was a while before Amy could speak. She was too tired and too drained emotionally to make her mouth form words. When she finally spoke, it was in a voice that sounded more like that of a five year old girl than a thirty four year old woman.

"Nick and Zoe's sons," she replied. She expected herself to start crying, but she couldn't. She didn't have the strength left.

She could hear PJ's despondent sigh and see Ringo's shoulders slump. Tragedy had hit Mt. Thomas once again.

* * *

Mark was too busy kissing Chris to hear his phone ringing at first. The rain had begun to die away, but neither of them had taken any notice. He felt drunk, but the alcohol had had nothing to do with it. He was drunk on a kind of passion that he had never really known before. Even Piper Morris had been unable to bring about this feeling.

The phone was ringing for the sixth time when Chris finally pulled away, offering him a slight smile. "You'd better answer it," she told him. Mark nodded and grabbed his phone. Chris sat back, running a trembling hand back through her hair. She'd spent enough time around coppers to know that they had to answer their phones.

She couldn't hear what Mark was saying, but she could tell that it was bad. His expression had gone from deliriously happy to devastation in less than a few seconds. He was standing at the other end of the public bar, massaging the bridge of his nose. His eyes were closed and Chris swore she could see tears shimmering on his cheeks.

When Mark finally hung up, he headed over to Chris and as their eyes met, she realised what had happened. For a moment, she swore her heart stopped. "Oh God," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "Oh God, not again. Not again, Mark." It was a few minutes before she could bring herself to ask the dreaded question and receive the dreaded answer. "Who?"

"Travis and Trevor Schultz," he replied, his voice sounding foreign in his throat.

Chris closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. She may not be a very good Catholic, but she was still a Catholic. She was crying when she turned her eyes on Mark again. "Poor Nick and Zoe," she whispered as she ran a shaking hand back through her damp curls. "They loved those boys so much. What happened?"

Mark's voice sounded as though he was being choked. "They drowned while rescuing a little girl from a storm drain."

She nodded slowly before sighing. "I suppose you should go," she told him. "They'll need you at the station."

He thought for a moment and nodded. "Yes, I suppose they will need me, won't they?" The way he spoke betrayed his uncertainty and fear to Chris. She felt sorry for him. He was hurting. Just the thought of Nick and Zoe's pain was affecting Mark. He turned to her and offered her a forced smile. "I suppose we'll end up here soon enough. You'll be alright, won't you?"

Chris nodded. "Of course," she replied. She was barely holding back her tears. "Go to your team. They need you."

Mark nodded and slipped out into remnants of the storm without another word. Once he was gone, Chris was able to gather herself together sufficiently to think. Nick and Zoe were going to need a lot of support to get through this. The team was going to have to do what it did best – come together around friends in need.

Then a very different thought hit her and it was one she was ashamed of thinking after such a tragedy. Despite all her vows not to let love get in the way again, it had. She'd fallen in love with Mark Jacobs and now she was simply in too deep to turn away.

Frustrated with herself and everything else, she kicked a chair over and it skidded across the floor.

_Love gets me every time  
__My heart changed my mind_

* * *

PJ was sitting alone in the corridor when Nick emerged from Zoe's hospital room. His head snapped up at the sound of the door and he offered his old friend a sympathetic smile. "How is she?" he asked gently.

Nick didn't move for a moment. It was nearly a minute before he could force his tired, grief-stricken body to sit down in the plastic chair beside PJ. Even then, he couldn't bring himself to meet his friend's gaze. PJ's sympathy would break him. "She's been sedated," he explained. "Mercifully, she's asleep. She doesn't know yet. I don't have a clue how to tell her." Nick sighed for a moment before speaking again. "Tell Amy and Adam thank you for me. I think I did nothing but make them feel guilty before."

"They understand," PJ reassured him. "They both know you well enough by now to be able to understand what goes on inside your head."

Nick nodded slowly. "That makes me feel a little better," he said with a half-smile. "At least I know I haven't ostracised a couple of my dearest friends." He began to wring his hands as he tried to fight back the emotions. He hadn't been expected for the intensity of his grief. After losing Jennifer and Zoe, he'd thought that nothing could ever quite hurt him that much again. He'd been wrong.

"You can talk, you know," PJ suggested with a shrug after several minutes of silence. "It might help."

Nick almost laughed. "I'd howl at the moon if I thought it would help," he replied and turned to meet PJ's gaze. It had the very effect he had been dreading. He drew in a deep breath. "I never thought something like this could happen again," he confided. "I've already lost a wife and a child…the chances of losing the boys…not after all the tragedy we went through to have them."

PJ nodded in understanding. He remembered Nick mentioning the miscarriages over a year ago when Amy had lost the baby. "The three miscarriages."

"I didn't mind whether or not Zoe and I ended up having children," Nick explained, barely responding to PJ's comment. "But Zoe did. She felt like she had to experience motherhood. But miscarriage after miscarriage…" He trailed off as he regathered his thoughts. "By the time she fell pregnant with the twins, we weren't even telling my parents anymore…" He sighed and let his head hang back. "Oh God, they'll be devastated…Dad barely coped after last time, this will destroy him…"

Nick jumped up and almost ran to the payphone at the end of the corridor. He picked up the receiver and began to dial. Half-way, he stopped as horror flashed across his face.

"I can't remember my parent's phone number," he mumbled, his hand trembling slightly.

PJ approached him, hands in the pockets of his pants. He pulled a hand out to pat Nick's shoulder soothingly. "It's alright, mate…"

"No it's bloody not," Nick grumbled, squeezing the receiver as though he was trying to crush it in his fist. "I grew up in that house; I've known that phone number all my life and I can't bloody remember my own parent's phone number…"

Nick seemed close to breaking down as PJ tried to pull him away from the phone. "Look, it's alright…"

Nick didn't speak for a while. It wasn't until he was sitting back next to PJ again that he could bring himself to talk once again. "I wasn't like this after Jennifer and Zoe died," he told him in a shaking, wavering voice that didn't really belong to him. "It was like…my whole body just went into autopilot for the first forty-eight hours. I could just function enough to do what had to be done. But this time…" He paused as tears began to find their way down his cheeks. "…I can't even think."

PJ nodded in sympathy and rubbed Nick's back gently. Nick began to cry, sobbing heavily into his hands. There was nothing more PJ could do than hold his old friend while he cried. Tears of his own filled his eyes as he found himself thinking about Travis and Trevor Schultz. Another two lives taken long before their time should have been over.

A little while later, a woman in a white gown emerged. Even without speaking, she commanded Nick and PJ's attention and the two looked up at her with red eyes. "Mr. Schultz?" she asked.

Nick nodded. "That's me," he managed to mumble as he pulled himself free of PJ's grasp.

"We need you to identify your sons' bodies," the woman in the gown told him, pausing hesitantly. "I'm sorry, but it has to be done."

It was a long time before Nick could speak. "I don't think I can," he replied simply. "I don't think I can face it."

The woman frowned a little, before nodding towards the morgue far down the corridor. "When you're ready, we'll be waiting," she told him. She went to leave, before stopping to speak once more. "They look very peaceful, Mr. Schultz. Like they're sleeping."

As she disappeared back to the morgue, Nick shook his head firmly. "Trevor and Travis were never peaceful," he told PJ. "They were always so…lively and vibrant and full of energy. Zoe and I could never keep up. It was probably a good thing that they were so independent. We'd never have managed if they weren't."

It was a long time before PJ could even try to reply. "Identifying a loved one isn't easy, mate," he sympathised. "But it has to be done. I think some part of us needs to do it. We can't believe it otherwise."

Nick wanted to yell at him, to demand to know what made PJ think he had any right to tell him what to do, but changed his mind. PJ may not have children, would never have any, but he understood more than most how intense grief could be.

In the end, he choked out what he knew was a weak response. "I can't do this, PJ. Even if they do look like they're sleeping. I can't look at them, knowing they'll never wake up, knowing they'll never keep us up all night playing video games, knowing they'll never play a practical joke on us." He shook his head and his face took on an expression PJ could only describe as broken. "I can't."

PJ nodded slowly. "Yes, you can," he reassured him in an encouraging voice that made Nick feel confident in spite of himself. "You can do this because you're not alone. I'll be there."

Somehow, the thought of having PJ at his side made Nick feel better. After a few minutes thought, he nodded. "Okay," he replied. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and let PJ guide him down the corridor to the morgue where his sons lay.

_Come on, take my hand  
__We're going for a walk  
__I know you can_

When they reached the morgue, there were two trolleys on which two tiny figures lay, covered by plain white sheets. PJ heard Nick's strangled little cry and found it hard to contain his own grief. This wasn't right. Nothing about this was right. The boys should have been burying their father in some time long in the future. Not this.

Nick ignored everyone else around him and carefully pulled the sheet back from one of the trolleys, then did the same for the other twin. The two looked even more alike in death. Nick couldn't escape the realisation that these weren't his boys. These were just shells.

Still, he couldn't stop the tears from falling or the all-consuming sobs from leaving his lips. The woman had been right – they did look like they were sleeping. In a way, he was glad. He didn't think he could have handled anything else.

He gently cradled a boy in each arm and pulled them to his chest. He held them for what seemed like hours, but was in fact only minutes. He couldn't stay there, holding them. They didn't squeeze back, they didn't cry out for him to stop being embarrassing. His boys simply weren't there anymore. And it seemed that there was something at his shoulder, telling him to let them go.

So he carefully laid each back on their trolley, kissed them each once more and slowly pulled the sheets back up over their faces. He stood there for a moment, whispering a goodbye, before he turned back to one of the morgue workers.

He nodded. "That's them," he mumbled and slipped out of the room.

As soon as the door was closed, he broke down completely. His legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed back against the wall, crying with an intensity he never had before. He wasn't aware of anything else, not even PJ's arms as he pulled his old friend into his arms.

All he was aware of was that his baby boys were gone and that he was going to have to find some way of telling Zoe that she was no a mother with no children.

_Do you remember telling me you'd found the sweetest thing of all?  
__You said one day of this was worth dying for_

* * *

It was quiet at Charlie McKinley's farm when Dash and Adam arrived. Neither of them had spoken since Adam had told her of Travis and Trevor's deaths. There seemed to be nothing that could be said. They could almost feel Nick and Zoe's pain. They were both parents and Adam was already acutely aware of the pain of losing a child.

Charlie was waiting in the living room, reading a book by the light of a candle. It cast flickering shadows on the walls that only added to the unnaturalness of everything that had happened that day. Dash couldn't quite trust that anything around her was real. It all felt too surreal to be anything but a bad dream.

"Phoebe's asleep," Charlie explained, "and Macca and Kirsty are out visiting friends. I think they couldn't face you two."

Dash nodded in understanding as she stopped at the kitchen. Without thinking, she began to make herself a cup of coffee. She normally rejected caffeine on health grounds – part of the efforts she was taking to prevent the cancer from coming back for round two – but tonight was an exception. If it wasn't for the fact that she knew she had no tolerance for alcohol, she would have happily downed some of Charlie's scotch to try to blot this night out. She never again wanted to see that mental image Adam had described. Nick and half-dead Zoe and their dead sons and Amy half-drowned and Adam left with no idea of what to do.

No, she never wanted to see that again.

When she returned to the living room, Adam was gone. Dash swallowed down a mouthful of the coffee before turning to Charlie. "Where's Adam?" she asked quietly.

Charlie looked at her with his tired eyes through his thick-rimmed glasses. "Phoebe's room, I think," he replied. He'd scarcely finished speaking when Dash had abandoned her coffee and headed down the hallway after Adam.

Charlie had been right. Adam was in Phoebe's bedroom – it had once been Ian's, Dash reflected numbly – and was crouched down beside the bed. Phoebe was still asleep and took no notice of Adam gently combing the dark strands of hair back from her face. By the moonlight through the window, Dash could see that he was crying silent tears.

She knelt down beside him and wrapped her arms around his torso. She buried her face in his shoulder and let her own tears fall. Together, they cried while their daughter slept on, completely unaware of the tragedy that befallen Mt. Thomas.

_Here I am  
__Lost in the light of the moon that comes through my window_

* * *

Chris was sitting alone, drowning her sorrows in a glass of brandy when Mark returned to the pub. He seemed to have aged in the last hour he'd been away. The sight broke Chris' heart and reminded her of just how strong their bond was now.

He forced a smile for her sake. He pointed to the empty bottle on the bar. "You didn't drink all of that, I hope."

"Well, it wasn't abducted by aliens, if that helps you narrow it down," she replied with a shrug.

"You'll get drunk if you're not careful," he commented as he drew up a stool beside her.

She simply laughed at the suggestion. "I'm Irish, remember? I can handle alcohol better than everyone else put together." A silence fell between them and it was several minutes before she could bring herself to ask the hard question. "How is everyone?"

"Barely holding on," he replied. He passed a hand across his weary eyes as he spoke. "PJ is with Nick at the hospital, Dash and Adam have gone home, Ringo doesn't know what he's supposed to do and Amy's simply in shock and should probably be in hospital." He sighed as he let his gaze meet Chris'. "I just keep thinking about Freya. I keep wondering what would happen to me if I ever lost her. I barely know my own daughter, but she's still the most precious thing in the world to me."

Chris nodded and climbed to her feet as she pulled Mark's head against her chest. She rocked him gently as she tried to soothe him. "It sounds like you're feeling the most natural thing in the world," she reassured him before burying her crumbling expression of calm in Mark's soft grey hair.

_In between the longing to hold you again  
__I'm caught in your shadow, I'm losing control_

* * *

Ringo sat alone in the muster room, keeping his face buried in his hands. He didn't know where to go or what to do. He'd considered going home to the pub a few times, but had immediately dismissed the idea. This was one time when he didn't want Chris Riley to talk to and, besides, he knew Mark had already gone there. So he stayed in the muster room, trying to forget what had happened.

He'd had plenty of his own experience with grief. He'd lost the only sibling he had ever felt close to, not to mention the feelings of loss associated with the mother he couldn't remember. But he couldn't even try to imagine what Nick and Zoe were feeling right now. It pained him even to consider it.

He knew Amy was having a rougher time of it than he was. She was sitting in the CI office, wrapped up in blankets with a once-hot coffee sitting in front of her. She didn't speak. She didn't even move, except to cough every now and again. He considered going in there to talk to her, but kept changing his mind. Perhaps she felt the same way he did? Perhaps she just wanted to be left alone?

Frustrated, he began to massage his temples. He could remember everything he'd ever been told at the Academy, including the lectures on handling grieving relatives. But nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing ever could have prepared him for this kind of pain.

_Here I am  
__Lost in the ashes of time  
__But who wants tomorrow?_

* * *

Zoe had never felt so sore or tired before in her life. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep. She was barely aware of where she was. She tried to make her mind stop whirling as she rolled over in her hospital bed, stuffing the pillow further underneath her head.

Her arm cried out in agony as she moved. She cast her blurred gaze over to it. It was bandaged thickly from the shoulder to the elbow, yet she could still see spots of dried crimson blood showing through. She winced and tried to hold back the tears.

The pain seemed to bring her memory back sharply. Almost all at once, she remembered being down in the drain, searching desperately for her sons. She remembered finding Travis and hoping beyond hope that she could hold onto him. She remembered the despair when she realised that the water had taken him away.

"Nick," she called in a weak voice scarcely louder than a whisper. But he didn't appear in her line of sight. He didn't take her hand and reassure her. He didn't tell her that everything was okay.

And suddenly she knew.

She knew with the certainty that only a mother could have that her sons hadn't made it out alive. She knew that Nick would tell her when he finally reappeared. And she dreaded that more than anything else. She didn't know if she could bear to see the grief in his eyes.

She began to cry silently as she stared blindly ahead. And her heart slowly and painfully broke in her chest.

_Touch me and I will follow in your afterglow  
__Heal me from all this sorrow  
__As I let you go_

* * *

Amy sat alone in the CI office, trying to focus her attention on stopping the shivering from running through her body. It wasn't so much that she was cold – now it had stopped raining, it had begun to feel more like summer again – but from the shock. She kept reliving the moment when the Schultz twin – she still didn't know which one – had been ripped from her arms. She couldn't understand how she had let him go.

Adam had tried to reassure her that it wasn't her fault. PJ had too, but she hadn't believed either of them. She couldn't believe that it wasn't her fault she had let the boy go. He had been completely dependent on her to save his life and she had failed miserably. She wouldn't have even been able to save herself, except for Adam's intervention.

It was enough to make her doubt everything she'd ever thought about herself as a copper. If she couldn't save herself, what chance did she have of saving anyone else?

She wished that she could vent her emotions somehow, that she wasn't too tired and too exhausted to cry.

_Wish that I could cry  
__Fall upon my knees_

* * *

It was a couple of days later when Nick finally decided to drop in at the station. He'd spent most of those couple of days with Zoe, lying beside her and holding her as they cried. Eventually their tears ran dry and they just lay there in silence.

He'd called his parents too, as well as Zoe's mother. He'd gotten the reactions he'd been expecting – Zoe's mother blamed him, confident that somehow Nick was at fault; Elizabeth Schultz was brought to tears, then stepped in to offer to do whatever necessary to ease her son's burden; Klaus Schultz simply couldn't speak. It had been an effort to speak to all three, yet he somehow felt better when his task was over.

Mark met him in the empty muster room. He offered him sympathetic blue eyes. "How are you?" he asked. He hadn't seen Nick since the tragedy. No one other than PJ had been brave enough to face him, and even then PJ had only done it once.

Nick forced a smile for Mark's sake. "Holding in there," he finally answered. He nodded towards Mark's office. "Can we talk?"

"Of course," Mark agreed and led Nick into his office. He shut the door behind his Sergeant before clearing a spot on his desk and sitting down on it. He gestured for Nick to sit, but he remained standing. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I need some time off," Nick said bluntly. He looked at Mark with eyes that betrayed his true vulnerability. "Zoe and I need to get away for a while. We were going to visit Zoe's mum in Melbourne, then head up to Sydney for a while to visit my parents."

Mark nodded without thinking. "I'll have to run it past Inspector Barnes," he explained, "but I imagine that it won't be a problem. How much time were you thinking of taking off?"

Nick simply shrugged. "I'm not sure, Boss," he confessed. "Zoe and I will be back when we're ready."

The Senior Sergeant considered Nick for a moment before nodding once more. "Of course," he replied. "That's fine. Everything will be waiting for you when you return."

Nick forced a smile. "Thank you, Boss," he told him and went to leave. He was nearly out of the door when he stopped and turned back to him. "Where is everyone?"

"Ah…" Mark paused, trying to remember. The storm clean up had kept his members so busy that he had lost track. "PJ and Dash are attending a couple of looting cases and Ringo is giving the SES a hand. Amy's around here somewhere…mess room, I think." At Nick stare, he elaborated. "She really shouldn't be at work at all. She's still far too weak. She'll probably be glad to see you, though."

Nick nodded and slipped away to the mess room. Sure enough, Amy was sitting at the table, half-empty coffee cup in one hand and her head in the other. She looked so tired and Nick could have sworn he could see tears on her cheeks.

It took him a few minutes to find the words. "Mark said you'd be here."

Her head snapped up and she turned her emerald eyes to him. They didn't have the enchanting quality Nick was used to, though. Now, they were simply too tired to do much enchanting at all. "Nick," she breathed, a little shocked by his appearance. Almost as soon as she said the name, she lowered her gaze. She couldn't face him after what had happened down in that drain. Not after she had let his son go.

"You look awful," he told her, pulling a seat up next to her.

"I'm fine," she lied, still not meeting his gaze. "Just some bruises. I didn't even have much water on my lungs." She smiled half-heartedly. "I probably owe Adam Cooper my life. To think he was such a little dweeb at the Academy…"

Nick smiled. It was a genuine smile this time, not one he forced for the sake of those around him. He found himself wondering – and not for the first time – why Amy had this kind of effect on him. He doubted if she even knew she was doing it.

"You knew him at the Academy?" he asked, his grief momentarily set aside as curiosity took over. In hindsight, he couldn't work out why he'd never guessed before. Amy Fox and Adam Cooper were the same age and had both joined up at the age of nineteen – it wasn't hard to join the dots.

She nodded. "He was a royal pain in the arse back then," she told him. "I suppose you already knew that – you had to work with him – but he was even worse back then. I think he made it his mission in life to score a kiss from every female recruit." She almost laughed at the memory. She didn't realise what she'd let Nick do – she'd distracted him from the pain gnawing away at his heart. "I probably owe him that kiss now, though."

Nick chuckled. "I wouldn't let PJ hear you say that," he warned her with a smile. "He can get mighty jealous and I don't think Dash wants her beau missing any teeth."

Amy returned his smile before it faded as she finally dared herself to meet his eyes. They made her guilt return with a vengeance. "And how are you?" she asked quietly.

He'd been dreading that question. He couldn't lie to Amy like he could with Mark. Just as he had gotten under her skin and uncovered her pain, she had gotten under his. She would see through any lie he might try to tell.

"Not good," he finally answered. His shoulders hunched as he spoke. "It seems like this is never going to end. Everyone keeps turning to me, like I have all the answers, but I don't. All I know is that a few days ago, I was celebrating Christmas with my sons and now I'm going to be starting the New Year without them."

Amy nodded slowly, her eyes brimming with tears as Nick spoke. For the umpteenth time since Boxing Day, she saw the nameless Schultz twin being swept away from her grasp. She tried to shake the memory away, but she couldn't. Without even realising it, she started crying, choking out apologies between sobs.

Nick wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, his own tears forgotten as he watched Amy cry in earnest. Something hit him hard, a realisation that struck through his own pain and made his heart almost physically ache. She blamed herself. Amy had put the deaths of Travis and Trevor on her own conscience.

"You're not to blame for this," he told her, tightening his grasp. "You nearly got yourself killed down there. If anything you're a hero. You probably deserve a commendation." He watched her carefully, but his words didn't appear to change the way she felt. She kept sobbing and apologising as she covered her face with her hands. "We can't always make a happy ending."

_It might sound absurd  
__But don't be naïve  
__Even heroes have the right to bleed_

She shook her head. "You don't understand!" she wailed. "You'll never forgive me…"

Nick couldn't help but think that Amy hadn't been more wrong about anything before in her life. He didn't even know what she had done wrong, but he had forgiven her already. "I could never hate you," he reassured her gently. "Nothing could be as bad as this."

"I had one of the boys, Nick," she finally confessed, burying her face in his old t-shirt. "I found him at a grate. He'd climbed up above the water. I coaxed him down…I had him, Nick. I just couldn't fight the water…it ripped him out of my arms…" She looked up from his shirt to meet his gaze. "What sort of a useless bloody copper am I? I couldn't even save myself, let alone anyone else. Truth be told, I should have drowned with them."

He shook his head. He couldn't blame her. He couldn't even force himself to feel bitterness towards her. He buried his face in her hair and kissed her head gently. "You must have had Trevor," he told her softly, his voice muffled by her silky chocolate locks.

Bewilderment stopped her tears momentarily. "What?"

"Zoe found Travis," he explained. "She couldn't hang onto him either. What power do we mere mortals have against the rage of Mother Nature?" He paused reflectively before reaching up to brush strands of fringe back from her eyes. "I couldn't even tell my own sons apart, I don't know how Zoe managed it in all the chaos down there."

Her tears continued to fall silently. "I couldn't hold onto him, Nick," she whispered. "Your son drowned because I couldn't save him. I wasn't strong enough."

Nick shook his head. "No, Foxtrot," he told her, the nickname slipping from his lips without him even realising it. "This isn't your fault. I don't blame you. If anything, I'm grateful."

Her expression became one of confusion. "Grateful?"

He nodded. "I knew Travis died knowing his mother was trying to save him," he explained. "I was scared Trevor died feeling like he was alone and no one cared enough to help him. But he didn't. He died knowing you were down there and willing to risk your life to rescue him." He combed the hair back from her face once again as her tears began to run anew, this time brought on by a different emotion. "You went down there, knowing you might be killed, knowing that these weren't your children and you had no obligation to them. But you still went down there."

She began to sob again as she buried her face in his t-shirt. He could feel her tears soaking through the fabric and clinging to the skin of his chest. He buried his face in her hair once more to try to hide the tiny smile on his lips. He'd never really realised before just how strong their friendship was.

He squeezed her tighter. "I'll be indebted to you for the rest of my life."

It was only half an hour later, when Amy had managed to pull herself together, that they broke apart. The remnants of her coffee were cold by then and the others were returning to the muster room.

Sighing, Nick rose to his feet. "I suppose I ought to be going," he told her with a half-smile. "I don't think I can handle Dash McKinley today. I can barely handle her any other day." Amy weakly returned his smile. His expression became one of concern. "You'll be okay now, won't you?" he asked.

She nodded quickly. The last thing she wanted was Nick troubling himself over her. "I'm fine," she reassured him. "Thank you for that, Nick."

He nodded and kissed her cheek tenderly before leaving the mess room and slipping out the back entrance without being seen or heard by Dash, PJ, Ringo or Mark. Once he was gone, Amy turned back to her coffee and stared at the cold liquid for a few seconds before jumping to her feet and pouring it down the sink. With a deep breath, she began fixing herself another one.

Nick's words still rang in her ears and made her feel distinctly better. They helped alleviate her guilt and made her feel a little hopeful. Over time, her bruises and Zoe's arm would heal. The emotional scars might take a little longer, but they'd heal too eventually.

And, in the meantime, life would go on in Mt. Thomas.

* * *

Next episode... "Persona Non Grata"

Amy relives her painful childhood when her uncle is released from prison and the locals form a vigilante group. The new Probationary Constable makes an impression, and Nick and Zoe begin to move on with their lives.


	8. Ep 28: Persona Non Grata

**Episode 28: "Persona Non Grata"**

_Summary: Amy relives her painful childhood when her uncle is released from prison and the locals form a vigilante group. The new Probationary Constable makes an impression, and Nick and Zoe begin to move on with their lives._

_Lyrics come from "Made of Steel" by Our Lady Peace, "God Only Knows" by David Franj, "Met My Match" by The Whitlams, and "Miss Independent" by Kelly Clarkson._

Amy sat behind the wheel of her old red ute, tapping her fingertips on the steering wheel in time with the song playing on the CD player. It was an unseasonably cool February morning, so much so that she had pulled out her large purple coat several months earlier than she had expected to have to. She'd bought it last winter after the mustard coloured coat PJ had given her had been ruined during her abduction by Raymond Hunt. As much as she'd loved that coat, she'd decided that mustard had not been her colour and that she much preferred purple.

The main street was nearly deserted when she pulled her car to a stop outside the newsagency. She wasn't surprised – it was Sunday morning. Nothing ever happened in Mt. Thomas on a Sunday if anyone could help it. Even the crooks weren't too fond of committing crime then.

The young blonde behind the counter smiled at her as Amy slipped inside. She made a beeline for the newspapers she'd come for before heading to the magazine section. She browsed for a little while before moving on to the drinks fridge. She grabbed a couple of bottles of Coke and headed back to the counter.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries as the blonde's fingers danced over the cash register. Amy was digging through her bag, trying to find her wallet, when she finally said something that caught her attention.

"Have you heard when Sergeant Schultz and Doctor Hamilton are going to be back?" she asked without looking up.

Amy hesitated for a moment, surprised by the question. She hadn't seen Nick or Zoe since just after New Years when they'd headed up to Sydney to visit Klaus and Elizabeth Schultz. They hadn't called either and Amy wasn't surprised by that fact. She knew they had to work through their grief in their own way.

So had she. She hadn't rejected the counselling Mark had offered. In fact, it had been a great benefit. In time, the nightmares had stopped and she'd been able to accept that it hadn't been her fault.

Yet, as much as she understood Nick and Zoe's need to get away, she eagerly awaited their return. Nick in particular was one of the most important people in her life, second only to PJ. She needed them.

"They'll be back when they're ready," she answered simply. She grabbed a couple of Mars Bars from the box on the counter and added them to the pile. "I'll take these too."

"I can't imagine what they must be going through," the blonde commented. "Losing one child must be a tragedy – two at once though…"

Amy looked away and didn't reply. She didn't want to discuss this as though it was town gossip. Nick and Zoe had always respected her privacy and it was her duty to respect theirs.

The blonde stopped speaking as the door opened and someone entered. Amy didn't pay any attention and didn't even look at the man who had approached her until he said her name in a voice that she knew she could never forget.

"Amy."

She felt her heart stop momentarily. She turned to him and, as she looked at the old and hunted face of John Maguire, she felt helpless and afraid all over again. She wanted to speak, to tell him to go, but she couldn't find the words. Her whole body was frozen in place. The only thing that moved was her gaze, which flitted about as she tried to find an exit route.

Finally, the blonde told her the amount due and Amy brought herself back to attention. She paid it and, grabbing the plastic bag, hurried out of the newsagency, her heart now pounding hard in her chest.

Once inside the relative privacy of her car, she pressed her eyes shut tightly and let a quiet moan escape her lips. She'd thought it was over. She'd thought that the sentencing hearing four and a half years ago would be the end of it. She'd never imagined that she see him again. Yet there he was, back in Mt. Thomas and inevitably back in her life.

It was all she could do to control herself enough to start the engine up and drive back out to the house. She didn't even know how she'd tell PJ when she saw him and he realised that something was wrong.

* * *

PJ was slouched back in the couch when Amy finally dared herself to go inside. She did her best to hide her face as she dumped the plastic bag on the coffee table and tried to make a beeline for the bathroom. It didn't work. PJ didn't move, but his voice stopped her more effectively than anything physical would have.

"What's wrong?"

She hesitated in the doorway, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself as she turned back to him. He looked horrified at the silent tears in her eyes and the wet patches on her cheeks. She opened her mouth to try to explain, to try to fob him off, but she couldn't. In the end, she settled for the truth. "Uncle John was at the newsagency."

PJ looked as though he had been winded. His gaze flickered away and she thought she saw anger flash through his usually calm and soothing eyes. It passed quickly though as he returned his gaze to her and patted the cushion beside him. She was trembling a little as she sat down.

"I suppose he's served his four and a half year non-parole period," he mused, watching her as she brushed at her hair with her hands. That fact surprised him. He'd thrown his weight around to get the sentencing hearing brought forward and it had been over and done with at least a month before Amy had taken off for Homicide. They'd both been happy with the sentence John had received – seven years with a four and a half year non-parole period. Back then, they hadn't been able to see that far ahead. It had just seemed like such a long time and Amy was just happy to have had him admit what happened. And, if PJ was honest, he'd expected John to not survive that long in prison.

Amy nodded slowly. She'd already realised that. "I don't know why he's come back here, Peej," she whispered. "He must know Brendan and Chloe aren't here anymore. They wouldn't even speak to him if they were." She buried her face in her hands. "Why is he here?"

PJ didn't speak. He didn't think there was anything he could say. He sat forward and wrapped an arm around Amy. It seemed to soothe her a little and she lowered her hands from her face.

"I froze, PJ," she managed to choke out. "It was like being a kid again. I never thought I'd have to face him again."

He squeezed her a little and pressed his lips against her temple. "He can't hurt you anymore," he promised quietly. "I won't let him."

* * *

Ringo stopped jogging for a moment to catch his breath. He'd only just taken up jogging since he'd been recruited to look after the Blue Lighters team. It had gone by the wayside for over a year and Dash had volunteered him to start it up again. He knew nothing about sports other than hockey, but he'd been reassured that basketball wasn't that hard. Dash had told him that Nick would probably help out once he returned and was feeling up for the task. Nick had loved his basketball team and had been devastated when he'd returned to town to find that Kelly O'Rourke and Joss Peroni had had them playing what he'd called 'wogball'.

He gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of water before resuming his jogging. He was about to cross a road when a car shot out in front of him. If he hadn't seen it and stopped, he'd have been run over. He fumed a little as it stopped further up the road and ran over to it. He'd give the driver a piece of his mind.

It was a woman behind the wheel, probably only a couple of years younger than Ringo, with thick shoulder-length blonde ringlets framing her porcelain skin and sky blue eyes. She looked up to him in irritation. "And what do you want?" she demanded.

"You nearly killed me!" he snapped.

"Well, it'd help if you actually looked where you were going!"

Ringo dug through his pockets until he found his badge. He waved it at her. "I could probably bring you in for dangerous driving, you know."

She grinned a little. "Well, I suppose I ought to show you mine since you've shown me yours." She laughed at the puzzled expression on Ringo's face and pulled out her own badge. "Probationary Constable Emma Wright at your service. So who the hell are you?"

Ringo felt embarrassed. "Probationary Constable Ringo Barnett," he replied, putting his badge away. He felt extremely stupid now. "You new in town?"

"I've been sent here from St. Davids until further notice," she explained, stuffing her own badge away in the bag on the passenger seat. "I'm staying at some place called the Imperial. You'd know it?"

He groaned inwardly. There was no getting away from Emma, it seemed. "I live there."

Her grin broadened until it spread from ear to ear. "Well then, I'll see you back at the pub…once you've finished getting hot and sweaty, anyway." And with that, she drove off, leaving Ringo feeling more embarrassed and uneasy than he ever had before in his life.

* * *

Nick stretched a little as he awoke and, for a brief moment, everything was forgotten. All the pain was gone and it was just a normal morning. Zoe would be in to drag him out of bed and the twins would be arguing and trying to think up any excuse to get out of going to school. But then the truth hit him hard and he closed his eyes tightly again. The twins weren't there. They never would be again.

He rolled over and saw that Zoe was still sleeping. He wasn't surprised. They'd gotten home from Sydney late last night. He was tempted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, but changed his mind. She needed her sleep.

He climbed out of bed as gently as he could to avoid waking her and headed for the kitchen. On the way, he passed the boys' bedroom and couldn't stop himself from looking it. They'd started to go through their sons' belongings, trying to decide what to do with them. They were going to keep the most important things, of course, but others they would give to the boys' friends. Dash and Adam would be allowed to go through as well and pick out anything they thought they might like for Phoebe. There were other things that would probably end up at the Salvation Army.

They'd made the decision while they'd been up in Sydney. Getting away had been good for both of them – it had allowed them to clear their minds and begin to move on. They'd also decided to sell the house and buy one a little further out of town, a property where Zoe could keep her horses and perhaps even have a vineyard. They'd always dreamt of doing it, but had just never gotten the chance. Besides, they'd only be haunted by their sons if they stayed in that house.

He made himself some toast and a coffee and sat down at the table. A pang went through his heart as he saw the two chairs the twins normally fought over. It confirmed for him that the sooner he and Zoe got out of that house, the better.

He was going to get out today. Perhaps not back to work, but he'd drop in on Amy and PJ and probably Chris as well. As good as being with his parents had been, he needed to see his friends. That would be the best healing experience he could ever have.

* * *

_It was late and she was tired. Grabbing her coffee cup from her desk, Amy wandered down the corridor to the mess room. She'd scarcely reached the doorway when the lights went down and she found herself unexplainably drawn towards the CI office. She hesitated at the closed door, suddenly hit by a strange sensation that she could neither explain nor dismiss. She felt frightened._

"_PJ?" she queried, hoping to open the door and find him there. But he wasn't. It wasn't even the office she remembered. It was the overly bright pink bedroom of a twelve year old girl. Terror flashed through her mind as she remembered what had happened in that bed._

_Suddenly she was twelve years old again, lying curled up under the covers. There was the familiar creak as the door opened and his shadow fell over her. He was climbing into the bed beside her, suffocating her with the heat of his body._

_She began to tremble. "Please," she begged, "I've got school tomorrow."_

_His voice was scarcely a whisper, but he was so close that he might as well have shouted. "I'm cold," he told her. "I need to warm up." She tried to pull away from him, but she simply couldn't. "This is what people who love each other do…"_

* * *

PJ was watching Amy from the kitchen counter. She'd been watching _Gone with the Wind_ and had dozed off at some stage during the burning of Atlanta. He'd been reluctant to wake her up. She'd looked so peaceful, but now she was anything but. She was trembling and crying in her sleep. Sweat was drenching her forehead.

He crouched down in front of her and squeezed her shoulder. "Amy."

She awoke with a start, jolting upright. It took a moment for the panic to disappear from her eyes. "Peej."

"The old nightmare?" he asked her, sitting down beside her on the couch. As she nodded, he reached out to wrap his hand around hers. He'd never felt so useless before in his life. There was nothing he could do to make this all go away. All he could do was try to be there when she needed him.

_I can be anything that you want me to be  
__A punching bag, a piece of string_

She went to speak, but a knock at the door stopped her. She forced a smile for his sake. "You'd better answer it."

PJ nodded thoughtfully and headed over to the door. The moment he opened it, a grin spread across his face. "Nick."

Nick returned the smile. "Patrick, old mate, old buddy, old pal, how'd you be?" Nick didn't wait for an answer or an invitation. He clapped PJ on the shoulder and slipped past him. His face fell a little at the look on Amy's face. He couldn't describe it, but it wasn't normal. "Foxtrot, what on earth has happened to you?"

She waved it off. "Nothing," she lied as PJ headed into the kitchen to make some coffee.

Nick sat down beside her, watching her doubtfully. A few seconds later, he spoke in a hushed voice. "So what's wrong? And don't lie to me, because I've heard all your excuses before."

She sighed. She let her gaze meet his as she finally spoke. "My uncle…he's back in Mt. Thomas."

"What?" Nick asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Why would he come back? I don't understand." He could see by the way Amy was hiding her face in her hands that she didn't understand either. He reached over to squeeze her shoulder. "It'll be right." He felt angry. It wasn't exactly an unfamiliar feeling – after all, he'd nearly throttled a child molester in the cells once – but it was stronger. He'd already lost his sons and he just wanted to look after what he had left.

PJ returned, juggling three cups of coffee. Amy and Nick took theirs gratefully before PJ sank down into a chair with his own. He'd heard the conversation from the kitchen and knew Nick knew about John Maguire's return. Nick's anger was telling.

He decided to change the subject for everyone's sake. "So how was Sydney?"

Nick shrugged. "Sydney was Sydney," he replied. "It was good to catch up with Mum and Dad though. They're doing pretty well for their ages – Mum's seventy-nine now and Dad's eighty-nine." He sighed heavily as his mind drifted. "Dad's pretty shattered. He adored those boys so much. He'd even started trying to teach them German."

PJ forced a sympathetic smile while Amy squeezed his hand.

Nick forced a smile as he continued. "Getting away from Mt. Thomas helped us to cope." His smile faded into a frown. "But it's just so hard. It's like there's something gnawing at my heart. I just keep thinking about all the things they'll never get the chance to do, all the things that they used to do and will never do again…people seem to think that just because I've already lost a wife and daughter I know what to do. But I don't."

The phone ringing stopped the conversation in its tracks. Amy rolled her eyes as she climbed to her feet and slipped out to the hallway to answer it. "Hello, Amy Fox speaking."

It was Dash's voice on the other end of the line. "I tried getting onto Ringo, but Chris reckons that he's gone out running or something…"

"Dash, is there some reason why you're calling?" Amy asked. She didn't realise how irritated she sounded until a few seconds after she'd spoken and she regretted it. It was hardly Dash's fault.

"There's some disturbance at the Mt. Thomas Motor Inn," she explained. "The new manager called. One of his guests has been assaulted, a John Maguire I think it was."

Amy couldn't speak. She felt her hand begin to tremble and she had to clutch the receiver tighter to try to stop it. Her last hope for coping with John's return to Mt. Thomas – ignoring him – had just been shattered.

She was only half aware of Dash saying her name and only half aware of PJ as he drew up beside her, taking the phone from her hand and promising that someone would be out there to help. She wasn't really aware of anything until PJ hung up and pulled her against his chest.

_I'm by your side  
__Won't back down_

* * *

As PJ pulled his car to a stop in the car park of the Mt. Thomas Motor Inn, he turned to Nick. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked, undoing his seatbelt.

Nick shot him a smile. "Of course I am, I wouldn't have offered to come if I wasn't," he pointed out. "Besides," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I'd never miss a chance to make a paedophile's life a misery."

PJ rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car. In spite of everything, he found himself smiling a little. It seemed that some things about Nick Schultz would never change, no matter what else happened.

John Maguire was waiting in reception when PJ and Nick entered. A man with balding brown hair a few years younger than themselves was tending to a gash on John's temple. John looked different to what PJ remembered, though he supposed it wasn't a surprise. Four and a half years in prison could do that to anyone, let alone a paedophile who was getting on in years.

He could see the disbelief register in Nick's face, as though his old mate couldn't quite believe that the elderly man sitting in front of him was the one who had made Amy's life so miserable for so many years.

For a moment, PJ and John's gaze met. John clearly remembered him. "Senior Detective, ah…"

"Hasham," PJ finished for him. "Senior Detective Hasham. And this is Sergeant Schultz." He turned to the younger male who John had finally swatted away. "And you'd be the new manager?"

He nodded and extended a hand. "Gerard Lockwood," he explained. "I bought the place about three weeks ago. I thought I could make a go of this. Apparently someone else had other ideas…assaulted guests really won't help my reputation, will they?"

"Probably not," Nick admitted, not tearing his gaze away from John. PJ could see the look in Nick's face – the shock had given way to revulsion and disgust.

John climbed to his feet, waving off Gerard's concerns. "I'm perfectly fine," he told them dismissively. "I didn't want the police called in the first place."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "I found him lying unconscious in the car park," he told PJ and Nick. "I'd called an ambulance for him and everything, but he refused to go in it."

"It's nothing," John pointed out. "I don't want to make a fuss."

"Bit late for that now though, isn't it?" Nick asked. "If you didn't want to make a fuss, you shouldn't have come back here."

John shot him a look. PJ didn't really know how to describe it. But it was a distinct look. The one Nick shot him back was even more unmistakable.

PJ cleared his throat, hoping to regain some control over the situation. John looked ashamed, Nick looked like he was ready to draw blood and Gerard just looked very confused. It was definitely time to intervene.

"Do you have any idea who did this to you?" PJ asked, gesturing towards the cut as he spoke. "Any idea at all?"

John shook his head firmly. "No idea," he said. "And I don't want to make a complaint. So this is the end of it." And, with that, he stood up and left the room.

Gerard frowned as he watched his guest head back to his hotel room. "He confuses me," he admitted with a shrug. "He just showed up out of the blue yesterday, wouldn't say how long he was staying…seems like a nice enough fellow, I can't work out who would want to thump him."

"Funny," Nick grumbled under his breath. "He can't think of anyone, but I've got a very long list."

* * *

Mark gulped down the last of his coffee as he headed into his office before dumping the empty Styrofoam cup in the bin. It was a Sunday morning and, if he was honest, he didn't know why he'd bothered going in. He wasn't rostered on – that misfortune went to Dash and, later that day, to Ringo – but he'd decided to come in. He had some paperwork to finish and, besides, Chris had kicked him out of bed early to avoid running into Ringo.

He slipped into the muster room after a few minutes to find Dash sitting at her computer, typing a little too enthusiastically to be working on anything she should be. He crept up behind her just in time to catch her minimising the computer game screen.

"This is police work, is it?" he asked, grinning in spite of himself.

Dash went to argue, then shrugged. "Come on, Boss," she pleaded. "It's a Sunday morning. I've only had one assault called in and PJ's handling it. It's going to be a quiet day."

Mark sighed and went to head back to his office. He had barely reached the doorway before the phone rang. He groaned loudly as Dash answered. "The Q word," he mumbled. "Today of all days, someone just _had_ to say the Q word!"

A couple of minutes later, Dash hung up the phone. "That was Chris," she explained. "She reckons she's got half the town down there threatening to lynch some paedophile or something. She was a little vague on the details, but…"

"She wants us down there to make sure they don't end up off their faces and doing something stupid, right?" Mark finished for her. At Dash's nod, Mark headed over to the gun safe. He pulled out their gun belts and the registry book. "So much for Sundays, eh?"

* * *

When Dash and Mark arrived, the Imperial's public bar had become a who's who of Mt. Thomas. There was Compo Hayes and his old mate Richo, Charlie Clarke, Albie O'Connell and even dear old Winifred Starling was sitting over in the corner, watching the discussion with interest. Not to mention a dozen other residents. All the while, Tony snapped away with his camera, scribbling notes in between shots.

Chris hurried over to them, combing curls back from her face. "Compo started all this," she explained. "He and Richo came in, going on about some paedophile staying at the Motor Inn. It wasn't too hard to get everyone else involved."

Mark and Dash nodded and thanked her and headed over to try to diffuse the crowd. Chris headed back to her bar, which she leant against as she watched the situation despondently. She'd worked out long ago just who the paedophile was. She'd known from the second she heard John Maguire's name. It didn't take a genius to make the connection between John and Amy.

"John Maguire is the sort of dirt we don't welcome in this community!" Richo declared, receiving cheers in response while Mark and Dash shared a wary look. "He's a person no grate!"

Mark cringed. "I think you mean 'persona non grata'," he pointed out as he and Dash slipped into the group.

Richo looked annoyed at being corrected. "I know what I mean."

Tony looked excited by the turn of events. "Senior Sergeant Jacobs," he called, "what's the official police stance on John Maguire?"

Mark looked uneasy. Like Chris, he'd made a tentative connection between John and Amy and he didn't like what he was realising. But he knew that, if he didn't say the right thing, Martin Barnes would have his guts for garters. "As far as I'm aware," he explained, "Mr. Maguire has served his time…"

Albie scoffed as he downed the rest of his beer. "Cop code for 'the guy can get away with doing it again', more like."

"It is nothing like that," Dash pointed out. She'd also worked out what was going on. "For the moment, he's a free citizen. If he breaks he law, then he'll be punished. Unless that happens, there's nothing we can do."

Charlie, like the others, didn't seem impressed. "So the local constabulary is helpless."

"Looks like we'll have to do something for ourselves," Compo declared. "Some Mt. Thomas justice."

Mark drew in a deep breath as he folded his arms across his chest. "If I were you, Mr. Hayes, I'd give that idea second thought."

Winifred finally spoke in her soft, gentle voice. "We've heard about what that man did to his niece," she told them. Winifred's words seemed to carry more weight than anything that the men could have said. "No decent human being could have done that. Four and a half years in prison cannot possibly make up for what he's done."

Mark sighed. "I don't think anyone's denying that, Miss Starling," he replied. "But when people start taking the law into their own hands, all we end up with is anarchy." He turned to the others, who were looking very dissatisfied. The only exception was Tony, who was seeing the beginnings of a brilliant story. "Anyone who starts meting out vigilante justice will find themselves on a charge. Is that understood?"

They nodded obligingly and Mark and Dash left. On the way out to the car, Mark turned to his younger colleague. "Do you reckon there's any chance that got through to them?"

Dash smiled a little. "Not a hope in hell, Boss."

Mark nodded sadly. "I thought as much."

* * *

Amy was sitting on the couch, drowning her sorrows in a cup of coffee when PJ returned. The television was on, but he got the distinct impression that she wasn't watching it. Last time he'd checked, she wasn't fluent in Greek, so it seemed unlikely she would be watching the Athenian news.

Her head snapped up as he leant against the doorway. She sat the mug down on the coffee table. "What happened?" she asked, leaning forward a little.

"Someone walloped John over the head, left him lying unconscious in the car park at the Motor Inn," PJ explained as he crossed the room to sit down beside her.

For a brief moment, he thought he saw concern in Amy's eyes. It disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. "How badly hurt is he?"

"He's okay," he replied with a small shrug. "He regained consciousness quickly and seemed alright, but I suppose you never can tell with head injuries, especially at that age."

"Could he identify anyone?"

PJ frowned and shook his head. "No," he mumbled, his mind beginning to whir away. "He said he has no idea who hit him."

Amy could see from the look on his face that PJ wasn't satisfied by John's response. She shook her head in confusion. "You don't seem to believe him."

He looked to her and sighed. "The injury was to the front of his head."

"Oh." Amy frowned, her eyes narrowing as she looked away. It was clear that she was struggling to comprehend what was going on. "Maybe he didn't recognise the person who attacked him."

PJ shook his head, unconvinced. "Oh, he knows alright. John Maguire knows exactly who belted him, but he isn't saying."

She couldn't help but smile, even through her inner turmoil. "Is this another famous gut feeling, Peej?"

He returned the grin. "That is precisely what it is," he replied. He reached over and gently began to stroke her leg. She pulled away almost as soon as his palm made contact, her cheeks becoming bright red and a hint of panic flashing momentarily through her eyes. And he suddenly felt like an idiot. "Sorry," he apologised quietly.

She looked to him sadly before climbing to her feet. She stood there for a moment, apparently uncertain about what exactly it was she wanted to do, before grabbing the coffee cup and heading into the kitchen. She poured the remains of the now-cold coffee down the sink and rinsed the mug. By the time she turned around, PJ was standing there.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, brushing her hair back from her face. "I'm sorry for what this is doing to us."

He wrapped his arms around her, surprised to find that she didn't flinch away. Instead she held him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. She didn't speak or sob. She just held him. Yet, somehow, it was the silence that worried PJ more than anything else.

* * *

When Ringo had gotten back from the pub, he'd dashed into the shower. There had been no sign of Emma, something he was very grateful for. Quite frankly, she scared him. She kept looking at him as though she'd like to eat him.

But there was no such luck when he slipped out of the bathroom, covered only by a towel, and found her unlocking the door to her room. She grinned brightly at him as she left the key in the lock and approached him. "You are more than a pretty face, aren't you?" she teased with a laugh.

He felt himself turning bright red. He'd never encountered anything quite like Emma before. Even Dash, Chris and Amy weren't like this. "Sorry," he grumbled under his breath and made a desperate dash for his room.

Emma spoke before he could duck inside. "There's nothing wrong with a little bit of nakedness between friends," she pointed out. She chuckled a little. "Although clothes are good too, obviously." Ringo didn't speak. He found himself too frozen to even head inside his room and shut the door. All he could do was stand there, feeling increasingly embarrassed. Her grin finally eased into a more relaxed smile. "Look, it's alright," she reassured him. "You're not used to women, are you?"

Ringo went to try to argue, only to realise that she couldn't. "No," he admitted slowly. "I'm not."

She shrugged thoughtfully. "Not that I can see why," she said with a chuckle. "You look absolutely sexy to me." And without another word, she slipped into her room, leaving Ringo feeling more confused than ever.

* * *

Zoe awoke, trembling in sweat, her pyjamas clinging to her frame. It took a few minutes before she could calm her pulse down and climb out of bed. It was the nightmare again, the one where she saw Travis being swept away from her and knew that Trevor was in just as much danger. It was happening less and less these days and she knew that one day it would fade away completely, but for now it haunted her.

She eventually climbed out of bed and padded out into the living room. Nick was sitting on the couch, his right hand buried in his hair and combing it back from his face. There was something about his demeanour that concerned her. It almost scared her because it told her that he was about to do something stupid.

"Where were you?" she asked quietly, sitting down beside him. She reached over to rub his arm, but he pulled away without thinking. The gesture hurt. "You weren't there when I woke up."

He looked to her, a strange expression on his face. "I went over to PJ and Amy's," he replied. "I wanted to see how they were doing."

She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "And how are they doing?"

It seemed like an eternity before Nick was able to answer the question. He was too busy debating with himself, trying to decide whether he should tell Zoe about Amy's uncle. He was almost certain that she already knew. Zoe had access to Amy's medical records and a post-graduate degree in psychiatry. She'd need neither to know that Amy had been sexually abused as a child.

"Amy's uncle is in Mt. Thomas," he finally replied.

He could see the realisation light up in Zoe's eyes. "He's the one, isn't he?" she asked quietly, almost afraid that if she rose her voice above a whisper it would be a betrayal of Amy's confidence. "He's the one who abused her?"

Nick paused, before nodding. There seemed no point in denying it now. "Yeah, he is. PJ and I had to attend an assault at the Motor Inn where he's staying. Someone belted him over the head."

"Probably the least he deserves," Zoe said, more to herself than anyone else. "So who was it?"

"We don't know," he answered with a shrug. "If he knows who hit him, then he isn't saying." He frowned before reaching over to brush Zoe's dark curls back from her face. "They don't need this. They really don't need this."

Zoe pressed her face into Nick's shoulder. His concern for Amy and PJ annoyed her. Their sons were dead. If anything, this was the time they needed to be there for one another, but Nick seemed more focused on being there for his friends than for his wife. "They'll be okay," she pointed out. "If there's anything Amy and PJ are good at, it's looking after each other."

He didn't seem to have heard her. He pulled away from her grasp, snatching his car keys up from the table next to the front door. Zoe didn't bother asking him where he was going or what he was doing. She knew that he was heading over to the Motor Inn to try to drive John Maguire out. She'd known Nick Schultz long enough to know about his deep-rooted hatred of paedophiles.

Once she'd heard Nick reverse out the driveway, she climbed to her feet and returned to the bedroom. She was going to have a shower, get dressed and go back to work. It was time to get busy again.

* * *

Amy didn't quite know why she was at work, sitting in the CI office with a pile of paperwork in front of her and a blue biro in her right hand. She wasn't in any frame of mind to be working. She'd be no use to anyone if anything happened and she had to go out on a job. But she'd somehow managed to convince PJ that this was where she wanted to be. It was better than moping around at home, pretending to watch old DVDs.

She'd drifted off into a daydream when warm arms suddenly enveloped her from behind. She didn't jump or flinch, although she expected herself to. They were PJ's arms and PJ meant safety. So she found herself smiling in spite of herself and snuggled back against his chest as he pressed his lips against her neck.

"How's the report going?" he asked, his voice muffled by her skin.

She found herself chuckling sarcastically. "Very productively," she lied. "I've written three words since you asked me last."

He stopped kissing her and simply held her. She was grateful for it. She simply couldn't feel completely alone and afraid when he was there.

The two were so caught up in their own world that they didn't notice Mark or Dash return until the knock sounded at the door to their office. Barely half a second later, Mark slipped inside, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it. As Amy looked up to him, she felt her heart skip a beat and the colour drain from her face. One look at Mark's eyes had confirmed her worst fears. He knew.

"We, ah, just got back from the pub," he explained. "We've got a bit of a vigilante problem."

PJ released Amy from his hug. Seconds later, he grabbed her right hand. It had been trembling so violently that she was starting to leave little blue biro marks on the page below. "We know about the paedophile at the Motor Inn," he told him.

Mark nodded slowly. He felt distinctly uneasy. It was hard to watch Amy's pain. It made him remember Winifred's words, that four and a half years imprisonment could never make up for what had happened. "It looks like half the town is ready to get out the flaming torches and pitchforks," he continued, suddenly unable to meet Amy's gaze and focusing on PJ's face instead. "Dash and I hosed them down as best we could, but…"

"Small towns," PJ lamented with a sigh. He looked away thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to Mark. "Any idea how they found out?"

"Chris reckons that Compo and Richo spread the news," Mark replied. "Though God only knows how they found out…"

PJ clearly wasn't listening anymore. He offered Mark a smile that clearly told him that his presence was no longer needed and Mark, recognising that this was not his place, slipped out and returned to his office. As soon as Mark was gone, PJ looked down to Amy. She hadn't appeared to have been listening to Mark or paying any attention at all, but it was clear now that she had heard every word.

"The whole town knows," she whispered, pulling her hand free of PJ's and burying her face in her palms. "God, the whole town knows…"

He perched himself on the corner of her desk and closed his hands around her wrists. He slowly lowered her hands from her face. "It'll be okay," he reassured her. "I promise." Even as he said it, he felt guilty. He had no idea of whether or not it would be okay. Besides, he'd already broken his promise not to let John hurt her. Just his presence was causing her unspeakable agony.

"How the hell did Compo and Richo find out?" she demanded, looking up to him with confusion shining in her eyes. "Of all the people…how would they find this out?"

PJ squeezed her hands tightly as he returned to his feet. He kissed the top of her head softly before letting their eyes meet. "I'm going to find out," he promised. "It's going to be okay."

* * *

Nick yawned idly as he saw John Maguire peer through the curtains for the fifth time in the last half hour. He knew John knew he was here. He knew John knew exactly who he was and what he was doing. But he didn't care. Besides, he doubted that John would call the police. He seemed so determined to avoid police attention, even after he'd been attacked.

Zoe's behaviour that morning had confused him a little, but he didn't try to decipher it. She was grieving. They both were. They were bound to have moments like the one that morning. All he could do was try to work through his grief the best he could. Hopefully everything else would sort itself out.

* * *

Finding Compo Hayes and his old mate Richo was never a difficult task. PJ found the pair in the first place he decided to look – the public bar of the Imperial Hotel. By this time, the rest of the crowd Mark and Dash had encountered had drifted off to their separate corners, probably spreading the word that there was a 'person no grate' in Mt. Thomas.

Chris didn't speak to him or approach him as he entered. Instead, she offered him a sympathetic smile that lifted his spirits somewhat. He vaguely remembered the Christmas at the hospital, when Chris had been caught up in Steven Prior's attack. She must have known about Amy's abuse since then, he realised. That's if, being the perceptive thing she was, she hadn't worked it out earlier.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he approached Compo and Richo and placed a hand on each man's shoulder. "Guys, I hear you've been stirring the pot a little."

They turned to him in surprise. "We've only been performing our civic duty," Richo pointed out. "You know, letting people know what sort of a person is living in our midst."

"So how would a couple of guys like yourselves find out about someone like John Maguire?" PJ asked, grabbing a bar stool and dragging it up beside Compo.

Compo downed the remainder of his beer. "I wouldn't want to name our source, Detective Hasham," he said. "It was all given to us in confidence."

"Right," PJ mumbled doubtfully as he nodded. He looked to them pointedly. "So who was it?" He knew that Compo and Richo wouldn't hold out. And he was right.

"He didn't give us his name," Richo explained. "We were drinking with him at the Steam Packet…"

"Suddenly he started talking about how easy criminals get it these days…" Compo added.

"…said there was a paedophile in Mt. Thomas who'd raped his niece…"

"…raped her for four years, judge only gave him four and a half in prison…"

PJ raised a hand to stop the tirade. Compo and Richo had always been naturally competitive – who could outdrink the other, that sort of thing – and now it seemed it extended to giving PJ information. "Can you describe him then?"

Compo frowned. "I don't know – youngish, I guess."

"About your height," Richo added. "Dark hair, kinda curlyish."

PJ felt himself groan inwardly. The description was vague and they didn't have a name. Still, he thanked them and warned them to stay out of trouble. Even as he said it, he knew the warning had fallen upon deaf ears.

* * *

Ringo was lying on his bed, attempting to concentrate on the rerun of _Mythbusters_, when a soft knock sounded at the door. He sat up and turned the TV's volume down slightly. "Yes?"

"It's Emma. Can I come in?"

He found himself turning red just at the thought. Emma made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. There was something about her that attracted him in a way no other woman had attracted him before, made him feel things that he had never felt before. Perhaps that was why she frightened him so much.

"Come in," he replied, tossing the remote control aside. He had considered refusing her request, but only for a moment. Something about her tone had seemed softer somehow. Besides, he was going to have to face her some time. They were eventually going to have to work together.

Emma slipped inside, closing the door behind her. "I've really made you feel uncomfortable, haven't I?" When he didn't reply, she sat down on the bed beside him. "I'm not used to guys who act like this." He still didn't answer, so she continued. "There haven't been many girls in your life, have there?"

He looked over to her and forced a smile. "Not really," he admitted. "My mum died when I was six months old. I've got a sister, but we're not particularly close. Other than that, there's only Chris and my other female colleagues."

"I didn't mean to make you feel so bad," she apologised. Yet, even as she said it, she began edging closer to him. "Truth is, I reckon you're pretty cute."

He couldn't help feeling surprised. No one had ever been interested in him in that way before. "Cute?"

She nodded and crawled closer to him. He backed away, a little taken aback. "Very," she told him before kissing him hard on the lips. He didn't respond and a few seconds later she pulled away. There was a hint of blush rising on her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she apologised quickly.

She went to get up to leave, only for Ringo to slip his hand around her wrist. Within seconds he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back. He didn't quite know what he was doing, and for once he didn't care. For the first time in his life, he was throwing caution to the wind and listening to his heart.

* * *

Amy dug through the piles of paperwork on PJ's desk, growing more frustrated by the second. PJ hadn't come back, neither Ringo nor the new Probationary Constable had showed up for work, Nick hadn't come to work and Mark and Dash were quite happily staying out of her way. She couldn't quite decide whether or not she was grateful. She almost longed for a distraction other than paperwork, something to take her out of her own head for a while.

It was then that PJ's phone rang. She pounced on it, raising the receiver to her ear. "Mt. Thomas CI, Senior Detective Fox speaking." She paused for a moment as the man on the other end of the line spoke.

"It's Gerard Lockwood – I'm the manager of the Mt. Thomas Motor Inn."

She groaned inwardly. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"There's a car parked in the car park, out the front of one of my rooms…"

"The one John Maguire's staying in?" she asked, almost dreading the answer.

She could almost visualise Gerard nodding as he replied. "Yeah…" He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I think it's one of your officers. I think he was here this morning to investigate the assault."

Amy felt her stomach drop out as her grip on the receiver tightened. It was PJ or Nick. "Describe him."

"Tall…probably over six foot…brown hair…big nose…"

She drew in a deep breath as she momentarily lowered the phone from her ear. She felt anger begin to bubble away inside her. But it wouldn't do to take it out on a member of the public. She counted to ten before returning the phone to her ear. "Can you put him on?"

"Sure." Gerard's reply was reluctant. Amy could hear him put the phone down and walk away. A few minutes later, she heard the door open and two sets of footsteps come closer.

Nick's voice came over the line, uneasy and almost frightened. "Hello, Foxtrot…"

She didn't give him a chance to say anything more. "You are in trouble," she told him warningly, almost surprised at the bitterness in her voice. "You are in serious trouble. Ravenous sharks will look tame compared to what is waiting for you back at the station."

And with that she hung up, leaving Nick looking and feeling distinctly uncomfortable as he handed the phone back to Gerard and slipped silently back to his car.

* * *

Amy was sitting at PJ's desk, swinging back and forth absentmindedly when Nick slipped in silently. He had a nervous and guilty expression on his face, almost like he was a kid being caught wagging. Such an expression on a man of Nick's stature would have been comical if Amy wasn't in such a foul mood.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. It was a couple of minutes before Nick brought himself to speak. "So…where's the anger that's going to put ravenous sharks to shame?"

She glared at him hard. "How long were you sitting out the front of John Maguire's hotel room?"

"A while…" he replied, shrugging slightly. Truth was, he hadn't been counting. He figured that it had been a few hours, since it was now late afternoon.

Amy looked away, shaking her head in disbelief. "What did you think gave you the right?" she demanded when she finally dared herself to meet his gaze again.

He didn't reply at first. It was almost a minute before he replied. "I was trying to get rid of him."

"What? By intimidating him? Did you even once think to ask my permission before you turned into a uniformed thug?" Even as Amy spoke, she found her anger beginning to dissipate, replaced instead by a strong sense of hurt.

Nick took a hesitant step towards her, sensing the change in her mood. "Amy…"

She jumped to her feet and backed away. The tears were beginning to form in her eyes. "Don't even start, Nick…"

"I just wanted to make him go away for you," he told her quietly. "I thought that it would help…that it would make you feel better…"

"You had no right to make that choice!" Amy snapped. "You set yourself up as a one-man lynch mob without even stopping to ask me how I felt!"

Nick didn't even stop to think about what he said next. If he had, he probably wouldn't have said it. "I was just trying to look after the things I've got left!"

That silenced Amy. The anger vanished from her face and she stared at him, trying to work out what to say. Eventually, she spoke in a quietened and subdued voice. "I…I didn't realise…"

He looked to her sadly as he sighed. "I did my best for the boys. God knows I wasn't perfect. No one is. But I always tried to do my best." As Nick let his gaze meet Amy's, he shrugged helplessly. "I guess even my best wasn't enough."

"You were a good father, Nick," she reassured him, shrugging a little. "Any kid would have been very lucky to have you for a dad."

"Maybe," he mumbled, sitting back in Amy's chair. It was a long time before he spoke again. "My best wasn't enough for Travis and Trevor. But I was hoping it would be enough for you."

Amy crept over to him slowly and gently wrapped her arms around him. She could feel him burying his face in her stomach as she brushed his hair with her hands and kissed the top of his head reassuringly. She wanted to say something, something that would take Nick's grief away or at least lessen its intensity. But there was nothing she could do. Besides, she got the impression that just holding him was enough for the moment.

* * *

It was beginning to get dark when PJ returned to the station. Amy was sitting at her desk, dozed off on a pile of paperwork. He doubted that she'd been asleep for very long. At the least, the nightmare hadn't set in yet. He gently wrapped his arms around her. "Amy."

_God only knows if she laughs when she's sleeping  
__God only knows what she says when she's dreaming_

She awoke almost instantly, panic crossing her face momentarily before she calmed again at the sight of his face. "Oh, it's just you."

He smiled weakly as he pressed his cheek against hers. "Yeah, it's me." He kissed her cheek tenderly before relinquishing her and perching himself on the edge of her desk. "Sorry I haven't been here. I was trying to find out who fed the information to Compo and Richo."

"Any luck?" she asked quietly, switching on the overhead lamp to compensate for the growing darkness.

He shook his head. "The guy's Mister Average. My height, youngish, curly dark hair…" He sighed as he trailed off. The lack of leads depressed him. He had been so certain that he could sort this out by plugging the leak, but he hadn't been able to. He tried to shake it from his mind as he forced a smile for Amy's sake. "It's getting late."

She nodded slowly, looking down to the watch on her wrist. It was getting late. "I know."

"You want to head down to the pub? Grab some food?" PJ suggested with a shrug.

Immediately, he knew that Amy didn't like his suggestion. She made a face. "I don't know, Peej," she replied quietly. "I'm not really in a pub mood tonight."

He nodded understandingly and slipped her hand into his. "It's okay," he told her. "I'll pick something up from the pub on way home." His smile broadened a little. "We can put on a DVD…it can even be Bruce Willis-free, if you like."

She laughed in spite of herself. "Well, since you're willing to make such a sacrifice," she said as she rose to her feet and tiredly combed the hair back from her face. She tidied up her paperwork as best as possible, switched off the overhead lamp and headed out to the car park, slipping her hand into PJ's as they went.

* * *

Nick was playing darts on his own when PJ slipped into the pub, doing his best to remain unnoticed. He didn't want to be dragged into the vigilante group sitting in a corner, having grown considerably since Mark and Dash had dealt with them that morning. PJ gave his order to the barman and headed over to join Nick. He studied the dartboard. Nick seemed to be hitting everything but the bull's eye. "Not having much luck tonight, mate?"

"That's one way of putting it," Nick mumbled, throwing his last dart before returning to his beer. "It's been a pretty shitty day all round."

PJ couldn't help a weak laugh. "That's one way of putting it."

Nick smiled before nodding down to his glass. "You want me to shout you one?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'm just picking up some dinner," he explained with a wave of his hand. "Amy's waiting out in the car. She's not really in the mood for company tonight."

"Don't blame her," Nick said, nodding over to the vigilante group. "We could be in for some trouble tomorrow. I think they're sharpening their pitchforks."

"That'd be right," PJ grumbled. "Them taking the law into their own hands without even stopping to think about how anyone else feels."

PJ's words reminded Nick of what Amy had said. Suddenly he was struck by the depth with which Amy and PJ knew each other. It put him to shame. "And how are you dealing with John Maguire being in Mt. Thomas?" he asked, downing a mouthful of beer.

PJ frowned for a moment before shrugging. "I don't really know," he admitted quietly. "I just…I see her suffering and I just wish there was something I could do. But there isn't. All I can do is keep telling her that everything's going to be alright, when I know it's not." He paused, meeting Nick's eyes briefly. "I just wish there was some way I could take the pain away." He forced a weak smile. "If John Maguire's in front of my car and my brakes fail, it won't be my fault, will it?"

Nick chuckled. He went to respond, only for Chris to approach them, holding out a plastic bag to PJ. "Here's your dinner," she told him, offering him a sympathetic smile. "I hope Amy's feeling okay."

PJ didn't really respond to what Chris said. He thanked her, kissed her cheek gratefully and slipped away, a sense of dread beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

"Amy."

She jolted back to awareness. PJ had suddenly appeared in the driver's seat and was holding the plastic bag out to her. She could feel the warmth radiating from its contents and, blushing a little in embarrassment, took it from him. "Thanks."

"Jeannie's finest," PJ told her, his smile fading as he looked Amy over. "You okay?"

Amy looked up and nodded quickly. Too quickly. "Yeah, yeah, just…"

"Distracted," PJ finished for her as he reached over to comb dark strands of her fringe back from her eyes. They were troubled. "You want to talk?"

She shook her head slowly. "No," she replied quietly. "I just want you here."

"Then I'm here."

* * *

Ringo lay back on his bed, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. He knew Emma should have left hours ago, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to tell her to go. Chris would have worked it out by now. With any luck, she'd be able to restrain herself from telling the rest of the town.

Emma dozed quite contently in his arms, her blonde ringlets falling into her face. She seemed even more beautiful in her sleep. He gently played with her curls, all the while trying to convince himself that this was real. She seemed too perfect. Everything seemed too perfect. He wasn't used to things going his way, at least not this easily.

He sighed as Emma snuggled closer to his chest. No, he decided. He wasn't used to things going this well at all.

* * *

Dinner was a solemn affair for Amy and PJ. They ate silently, while watching a DVD of _Dead Poet's Society_. The film bored PJ senseless, but he didn't argue. He had promised that Amy could watch anything she wanted – even if it didn't feature Bruce Willis – and the movie seemed to take Amy's mind off her own problems for a little while. He offered to clean up while Amy had a shower, then had one himself before joining Amy in their bedroom.

She was curled up, apparently engrossed in a copy of _The Big Sleep_. PJ crawled into bed beside her, but she didn't respond. Sighing a little, he grabbed a copy of Police Life from the bedside table and leafed through it. Within seconds, he'd remembered why he'd never bothered reading the magazine before.

He put it aside and turned back to Amy. She was still reading. He knew that she wasn't that interested in the book. Amy had read it before. He distinctly remembered her complaining about how incomprehensible the plot was. So he gently prised it out of her hands.

"I was reading that," she protested.

He shook his head. "No, you weren't," he told her. "It's getting late. You've been the walking dead all day. You need to get some sleep."

"I'm fine," she lied, but she knew that PJ didn't believe her. It was almost irritating sometimes, how perceptive he could be. He fixed her with his probing stare and she caved. "I'm too scared to sleep."

"The old nightmare?"

She nodded. "I hadn't dreamt it for so long," she whispered, "I thought it was gone for good. I'm too scared of going back there again. I lived through it once; I don't want to have to relive it now."

PJ nodded in understanding and cupped her cheek in his hand. "I'm here," he reminded her. "I'll look after you. I'll hold you all night if it'll keep the bad dreams away."

She stared at him for a long time before nodding and slowly slipping under the covers. She crawled close to PJ's chest and stared up at him. As soon as he saw her eyes, he felt his heart melt.

_So tiny curled up warm in bed  
__Big green eyes looking through me_

Her pain was so sharp, so strong, not dulled by the passing years. He remembered what he had said to Nick, about how helpless he felt in the face of Amy's suffering. All he could really do was hold her and hope that, somehow, holding onto her would make things better.

* * *

It was early morning when Amy awoke, PJ's arms still wrapped around her and the sun barely appearing on the horizon. She smiled weakly at him before detangling herself from his arms and padding out into the kitchen. She needed a coffee. Badly. She had barely gotten her mug out of the cupboard when she heard the phone ringing.

She pounced on it, not wanting the ringing to wake PJ. "Fox."

"Amy, it's Mark." Amy frowned at Mark's voice. He sounded tired and, overall, very worried. "We've got a bit of a situation."

She sighed. She had the feeling she knew just what the situation was. "What's happened?"

"Half the town's at the Motor Inn. Gerard Lockwood's been attacked, John Maguire's been locked in his room…we've had a brick through a window; Maguire's car's been torched…" Mark paused for a moment, as if suddenly remembering that he was talking to Amy. "I need PJ at the Motor Inn. It'd be good if you could head into the station, give Dash a hand. I mean, if that's okay…"

"That's fine," she replied. She wrapped up the call and hung up the phone before heading back to the bedroom to wake PJ up. She'd have to have her coffee at the station.

* * *

As soon as they pulled into the Motor Inn car park, PJ knew that Amy and Mark hadn't been exaggerating. The CFA were doing their best with John's burning car, but it was clear that it was beyond salvation. The crowds were rioting, waving placards and chanting. Compo and Richo seemed to be the ringleaders, while Tony Timms and Lee Cruikshank seemed to be grinning gleefully, apparently seeing an amazing story brewing.

Nick, Ringo and Mark broke into the crowd, trying their hardest to subdue them. It wasn't working particularly well. PJ didn't stop to deal with them, however. He stormed right through to the front door to John Maguire's room, where the elderly man was peering through the fly screen.

"We need to talk," PJ told him simply and John nodded as he unlocked the door and let him in. The hotel room was nothing flash. It was dark, dingy and had a horrid stale smell to it. It was enough to make even the Commercial look like the Hilton.

John shut the door as soon as PJ was inside and gestured for him to sit down. PJ refused. John sat down on the arm chair regardless and it was at that moment that PJ noticed for the first time that John was walking with a limp.

"What happened to your leg?"

Remembrance and a hint of fear seemed to flash through John's face. "One of the other prisoners pushed me down a flight of stairs," he explained. "I broke it. I'm just lucky it wasn't my hip or my back."

PJ frowned as he realised that his hands were tightening into fists. He would have loved to have given this man a decent beating, maybe get a little bit of blood on his hands. But he knew that that would have been the least helpful thing he could possibly do for Amy. So he stuffed his fists into the pockets of his trousers. "You copped some ill-treatment inside?"

John simply sighed. "They called me a rock spider," he explained quietly. He didn't go into it any further and PJ, in a way, was grateful.

An uneasy silence fell between them until finally PJ shrugged; daring to ask the question that had troubled both himself and Amy. "Why are you here? You must know Brendan and Chloe aren't here anymore, that they wouldn't see you even if they were."

For a long time, John couldn't speak. Eventually he sighed. "I didn't know where else to go."

"Why not Melbourne?" PJ asked. "Or anywhere other than Mt. Thomas? Word spreads through prisons like wildfire. You must have known Amy was here."

"I did," John admitted quietly. "I just wanted to see her, to be close to her."

Something akin to jealousy raced through PJ's body. The impulse to tear John apart returned, but he subdued it quickly. He went to speak, but John got in first.

"You're Amy's husband now, aren't you?" he asked. At the confusion that crossed PJ's face, he continued. "Brendan still writes to me every now and again. Usually just an update at important moments, like when his wife died. I think he feels some sort of obligation."

"You are his father," PJ reminded him pointedly. "In spite of everything you did." He paused to let his words sink in. "And yes, I am Amy's husband."

John looked to him thoughtfully. "You seem like a good man," he mused. "Brendan was full of praise. He always has been, even when the two of you have been on opposing sides…"

PJ got the feeling that John could have gone on, so he decided to stop him. "You're hurting her."

John stopped talking and looked to PJ in surprise. "Hurting her?"

"You don't understand, do you?" PJ queried, shaking his head in disbelief. "Amy has worked so hard to move on with her life. Learning to trust people again, learning to be comfortable with herself again…you've got no idea how hard that's been for her, do you?" PJ watched as guilt crossed John's features. Suddenly, the elderly man was unable to meet his gaze. "Your presence is making her miserable. Can you at least try to understand that?"

PJ crouched down in front of John so that their eyes were level. Even then, it seemed like an eternity before John looked up to him again.

"I remember," PJ began thoughtfully, "that you once said that Amy was the love of your life. If you've ever loved her at all, you'll leave Mt. Thomas." As a strange look of realisation etched itself into John's face, PJ climbed to his feet. "Amy's my wife," he continued quietly. "And I love her very much. Please let her go before you hurt her anymore."

And with that, he left, shoving Tony Timms and his camera out of the road as he made a beeline for his car.

* * *

Dash was already at the station when Amy arrived. The younger officer was over at the photocopier, apparently trying to wrestle with it. "Toner cartridge gone again?" Amy asked.

She looked up hurriedly, seemingly surprised by Amy's presence. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be coming in."

Amy shrugged. "Mark wanted me to help man the station," she explained. "I think he wanted all hands on deck for when he brings half the town in to charge them. There's some arson and criminal damage charges looming, plus God knows what else…"

Dash wasn't really listening anymore. Her mind was drifting to the connection she had made, the only between Amy and John. The idea of such a painful childhood shocked her a little; it was just such a contrast to what she had grown up in. The idea that Amy had come through it simply amazed her.

She followed Amy over to Mark's office and leant against the doorframe while Amy dug through the drawers. "The Boss should have the name of the cartridge supplier somewhere…" Amy mused.

It was now or never, Dash decided. "I know John Maguire's your uncle."

Amy froze. For a few seconds, she was certain that her heart had stopped. Finally, she was able to draw in a deep breath and resumed digging through Mark's desk. "The supplier's name will be here somewhere…"

Dash took a couple of steps towards her. "That must have been horrible…"

"Just leave it, Dash," Amy finally told her, looking up to her with warning eyes. "It's none of your business."

She continued on regardless, almost as though she hadn't heard Amy's words. "I was nearly raped when I was in high school," Dash began.

Amy looked to her, the warning in her eyes turning to pleading. "Do I really want to hear this?"

"It was Luke Darcy," Dash continued. "He baled me up in the bike shed; it was really only luck that I got away…"

"Please, stop…" Even beneath the begging, Amy could feel her temper kicking in. She was being pushed too hard and too far.

"I remember how helpless and frightened I felt," Dash explained, moving slowly closer to Amy. "But going through that, night after night…and having your uncle be the cause…I don't know how that would have felt, but I can sort of understand…"

Amy didn't really want to lose it with Dash. Quite frankly, she liked Dash more than she had liked most of her female colleagues in the past. She was intelligent, funny and, perhaps most importantly, was closer to her in age than others such as Kelly had been. But even that couldn't stop the teary, angry response that left her lips as she stormed away to the mess room.

"You don't understand anything!"

And as Amy pushed past Dash, she knocked a pile of Mark's paperwork to the floor, including the name of the cartridge supplier that she had been too flustered to notice earlier.

* * *

It was nearly half an hour later that Dash was finally able to get up the courage to knock on the closed mess room door and invite herself inside. She closed the door behind her and leant back against it, hesitating to approach Amy further.

Amy was sitting on the window sill, her back resting against the glass panes. Her eyes were red and her cheeks wet, but all the sobs had died away into silence. At the sight of Dash, she tried to brush her tears away with her sleeve.

Suddenly Dash was at her side and offering her a floral-decorated hankie. Amy stared at it in bemusement for a few seconds before taking it. "My Mum always told me to keep a hankie up my sleeve," Dash explained as Amy dried her cheeks.

Amy forced a smile, more for Dash's sake than her own. "I should really start doing that, eh?" she said with a sigh. "In all the great crises of my life, I've never had a hankie on me." Her mind drifted back involuntarily to the night at the station about four and a half years ago, when PJ had offered her the tuna fish sandwich smelling hankie, when she ruined the moment when he was being 'all heroic and supportive'.

"I shouldn't have been so pushy," Dash told her quietly. "You're right – I don't understand. But I'd like to."

Amy looked to her in surprise. She shook her head. "No, you don't. You don't want to understand what this is like."

"You're my friend," Dash reminded her with a shrug. "I want to help you. But I can't help if I don't understand."

Amy looked away and drew in a deep breath. She had told the story so many times. Too many times. Bill, Garth, PJ, Nick, Tom, Susie, Kelly, Pat…the list just seemed to go on.

"You must already know some of the story by now, surely," Amy replied quietly as she scrunched Dash's now-soaked hankie into a ball in her hand.

Dash nodded. "Your parents died when you were young," she began, "you were brought up by an aunt and uncle. Brendan said that much when he came over for the wedding."

She nodded before daring herself to meet Dash's sympathetic gaze. "I was twelve the first time my uncle came to my room," she explained in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. "I was twelve years old." She knew that, if she'd had the strength, she'd have been sobbing by now. "It went on night after night until I was sixteen."

"What happened then?" Dash asked, sitting down on the window sill beside her. As it was, she got the feeling she already knew. The reason Amy had always been so ambivalent about children…

Amy drew in a deep breath to steady herself before sighing heavily. She couldn't find the right words, so in the end she shrugged. "I was late," she replied simply. Dash knew precisely what she meant. "I went down to the supermarket and picked up a pregnancy test. I just remember thinking 'please no, not this, anything but this'…"

"It was positive, wasn't it?"

Amy nodded. "I didn't know what to do. No one else knew what was going on; there was no one I could really turn to. I went to my aunt; I guess I believed she might help me. I was mistaken." She fixed Dash with a sad stare. "She said that…there was no way that I could keep the baby. She said she'd…fix things. I just went along with it. I thought if I did what she said, things might get better."

Dash couldn't keep the horror out of her eyes. "She made you abort the baby?"

Again, Amy nodded. For a long time, she didn't say anything. The tears were beginning to fall again. "Then she dumped me on a railway platform and told me not to go home." As the sobs kicked in again, Amy turned to Dash with an expression that broke Dash's heart. "I'm never going to get away from this, am I?" she asked softly. "Every time I think I might have dealt with it, it comes back for another go…"

Dash wanted to say something to take the pain away, something to make Amy feel even just a little better, but she knew there was nothing. So she wrapped her arms around Amy and let her sob into her shoulder.

And, in the moment, Dash had never been so grateful for her loving, protective family and her happy, safe childhood.

* * *

Amy was waiting in the CI office when the others returned. She had cried into Dash's shoulder for what had felt like ages, until eventually the tears ran dry. Dash had promised never to tell anyone what had been confided in her. And Amy, in spite of Dash's reputation as a motor-mouth, believed her. Dash McKinley might enjoy a good gossip, but she was a loyal friend.

She heard the office door open and close as PJ entered and gently kissed her cheek. He didn't say anything and neither did she. She just reached up to place her hand upon his face – a silent thank you.

"Sorry," she whispered quietly, slowly turning to stare up at him with emerald eyes that had lost their sparkle. "I'm sorry for all of this."

He smiled at her with that warm, gentle grin of his that always made her feel at ease. But even that couldn't stop the tiny tears from appearing in her eyes and sliding silently down her cheeks. His heart began to break as he placed a hand upon her soft skin to brush the little droplets away. "Hey," he soothed quietly. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault."

She drew in a deep breath to try to steady herself, raising a slightly trembling hand to place it atop of PJ's. "I'm putting you through all of this," she told him in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. "You're just as miserable as I am and it's my fault."

"I'm not miserable," he pointed out, using his free arm to take Amy's hand and pull her gently to her feet. He wrapped an arm around Amy's waist, pulling her close against his body. "I just want to be here for you."

She looked away, batting his hand away from her face. "That's just the point isn't it? It's always about me." Sighing heavily, she turned back to him. "It's always about me. My past, my abuse, my infertility, my problems…" She hesitated as PJ's eyes grew ever more sympathetic. "It's never about you."

A sad smile crossed PJ's face as his grip grew tighter. "You don't understand," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "Just being here, holding you…it makes me unbelievably happy." Softly, he brushed her tears away and the touch brought a smile to Amy's face in spite of herself. "That's better," he declared, kissing her cheek tenderly.

"Much better," she managed to mumble before pressing her lips against PJ's, desperately trying to believe his reassurances that everything would be okay.

* * *

It was late when Ringo returned to the pub. He'd left Emma there when John Maguire's room had been attacked and, between charges and cleaning up, hadn't had the chance to get back to her. He felt his heart skip a beat in his chest as he thought of the beautiful blonde, laughing, kissing him, and making him feel so deliriously happy.

He stopped at the bar, ordered a night cap from the barman. He needed something to take the edge off, something to make him relax. Turning so that his back was to the bar, he closed his eyes and left his mind drift away…

Until a very hard blow connected with the side of his face.

Unprepared, Ringo fell to the ground, grabbing at his cheek instinctively. Nothing was broken, but it hurt like hell. He could hear Chris shout out in surprise as she raced to crouch at his side. A few seconds later, he was climbing back to his feet, looking at the man standing over him.

He was a good foot and a half taller than him, with cropped auburn hair and hazel eye that were flashing with a fury that Ringo hadn't seen before, and certainly had never seen directed at him. "That's for screwing my girl, you bastard!" he snapped, before allowing himself to be dragged away by a couple of Chris' barmen.

Stunned and breathless, Ringo collapsed back against the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Emma waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He wanted to demand an answer, but he simply couldn't speak.

He was angry, but it wasn't the anger that kept him silent. It was the strong sense of hurt.

* * *

_Slowly and thoughtfully, she weaved through the rows of shelves, considering each videocassette carefully as though her choice was of grave importance. Aunt Sally was in hospital and the boys were away. It was just her and Uncle John. He'd brought her down to the video store, promised she could choose a movie as long as he could choose one. She'd been delighted._

"_What about this one?" John called from three aisles away. Amy craned her neck to get a look at the movie he was holding up._

_She pulled a face. "The Wizard of Oz?" she asked doubtfully. "That's a kid's movie."_

_John grinned, his eyes sparkling. He slipped over to her and ruffled her hair playfully. "Everyone's a kid when they watch The Wizard of Oz, Princess," he reassured her with a laugh. _

_She shrugged. "It's still a kid's movie," she pointed out and headed for the comedy section._

_A few hours later, they were curled up on the sofa, a barrel of popcorn sitting between them. They'd watched Amy's movie first and were now settling in to watch John's. She was surprised at how much of the film she knew off by heart. _

_John shuffled closer to her on the sofa, slipping his hand around hers. She looked to him a little in surprise. "It's like being on a date, isn't it?" he told her with a smile._

_She shrugged. She'd never been on a date before. She was only twelve, only in year seven. They were only just getting past the 'cooties' stage. The only male she cared for at all was Uncle John. When she was his Princess Amy, she was untouchable. She was someone special…_

* * *

PJ had crashed almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow. The day had been long and he hadn't slept particularly well the night before, what with staying awake to look after Amy. He hadn't tried to stay awake that night. Amy seemed so much better. She still wasn't up to facing the others at the Imperial, but she was a little less uneasy, a little more comfortable. She'd dozed off quickly too – quicker than he was used to – and he'd honestly thought that she might be okay.

That was until she kicked him hard in the thigh.

He awoke with a start, giving a little yelp of pain. He rolled over to face Amy, half expecting to see her awake. She normally didn't kick him unless they had been called out on a job and she couldn't stir him any other way. But she was still asleep, trembling a little and mumbling.

"Please…I've got school tomorrow…"

He gently shook her shoulder. "Amez…" She didn't wake, so he shook her harder. "Amy, Amy…"

Suddenly, she let out a cry that nearly made PJ leap up to the ceiling. "Get off me!"

A little panicked, PJ grabbed her shoulder and shook it violently. Between that and her own shouting, Amy awoke, wide eyed and very terrified. She screamed and crawled back, batting him away weakly. "Get off me!"

He pulled away a little, giving Amy a chance to calm down a little. "Amy, it's okay," he reassured her, a little breathless and his heart still pounding. "It's just me, just PJ."

The panic seemed to dissipate a little from Amy's face and PJ tentatively reached out to brush the hair back from her face. Much to his surprise, she jolted away from his touch and tore out of the bedroom. "Just leave me alone," she begged.

Sitting alone on the empty bed, PJ suddenly felt something snap. He wasn't going to put up with this anymore. If he had to beat John Maguire to a pulp to make this stop, he would. They couldn't go on like this – not him, not Amy, not even Mt. Thomas. It had to stop. It all had to stop.

* * *

The drive into town seemed to last an eternity. There was some inane country song on 3SD. PJ didn't know what it was, who it was by or even the general subject. He was too busy thinking about what he planned to do when he reached John's hotel room. All alone on the highway, he suddenly realised that he didn't know what he was going to do. Certainly not kill him – he wasn't going to resort to murder, as tempted as he might be. And he wasn't going to beg John to leave. But he would do something. There had to be some way of convincing John to leave Mt. Thomas. There had to be some way of taking Amy's pain away.

He finally pulled up into the Motor Inn car park and looked to John Maguire's closed door. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering how such an unassuming person had done such a horrific thing. If he'd met John on the street, he would never have taken him for a paedophile. He might have even put him in the category of a 'good bloke'. For the umpteenth time since he had joined the force, he found himself musing over the ordinariness of the majority of criminals.

The night wind was colder than he expected as he climbed out of his car and, instinctively, he pulled his leather jacket tighter around his torso. When he reached the door, he knocked. "It's Senior Detective Hasham!" he called. "Open up, Maguire!"

He received no answer. PJ frowned. Surely John couldn't be that heavy a sleeper. Without thinking, he tried the knob. The door swung open. Dread began to form in his stomach. An unlocked door was never good news.

Cautiously, he stepped inside and looked around. The place looked like a war zone. Cutlery and china smashed all through the kitchen, the sofa upended, the phone physically torn from the wall…

Instinctively, PJ reached for his weapon, only to remember that he was unarmed. He was preparing to back out and call it in when he noticed a patch of something dark and sticky on the floor. He crouched down to study it. "Recent," he mused before climbing to his feet.

The further into the room he went, the more blood he found. It was wetter here and thicker. He knew now what he was going to find. This amount of blood…it had to be a body. No one could survive losing this much blood.

A little apprehensive now, he continued until he reached the bedroom. There, lying on the bed was a man wearing what might have once been a green woollen jumper with light brown pants. Both were stained with blood now, the same blood that had turned his grey hair a bright red.

But it was his face that held PJ's attention or, rather, his lack of a face. Instead, there was just a mess of blood, broken flesh and shattered bone. The sight was enough that, for the first time in years, PJ found himself barely able to hold onto his dinner.

Lying on the bed beside John was a long metal crowbar. It was the murder weapon. It had to be.

PJ let out a heavy sigh before quickly leaving to get some fresh air. He had been hoping to get rid of John Maguire, but it seemed someone had gotten in first.

* * *

Amy sat alone in the darkness of the living room, her knees pulled up to her chest and her breaths coming in shaky gasps. She hadn't quite managed to calm her racing heart yet, which was still pounding away in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to get away from it all, for all the pain to disappear and to find that she was just a normal person living a normal life. But she knew that could never happen. She was one of the walking wounded whether she liked it or not. She'd never be able to take away what happened to her. What really terrified her was the thought that she would never get away, that what had happened in those four years of her childhood would destroy the rest of her life…

When she heard the phone ring, she was tempted to leave it. She didn't think she could handle anyone. She couldn't even face PJ. She'd become a burden to him, a sobbing broken little girl, someone she was more ashamed of than anything else. It wasn't just John coming back to town. It was the guilt of the Schultz twins' deaths, the trauma from being attacked by Raymond Hunt…everything had built up and knocked her down.

_She looked in the mirror and thought today  
__What happened to Miss No-Longer-Afraid?_

Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and grabbed the phone. Whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to face the world and at least try to pretend that she was strong enough to handle it. "Fox."

"Amy, it's PJ."

PJ's voice instantly set off Amy's suspicions. It was too quiet, too shaky. There was something very wrong.

"Peej?" She asked, using her own shaking fingers to comb her fringe back from her eyes. "What's wrong?"

It took a moment for PJ to reply. "I'm at John Maguire's hotel room…"

Amy felt her stomach drop out. Suddenly, she found herself thinking the worst. Surely PJ hadn't done something stupid…surely… For a long moment, she couldn't ask the question. She dreaded the answer too much. "What's happened?"

"When I got here, the door was unlocked…" PJ trailed off, sighing as he ran a hand back across his head. "Amy…he's dead."

She suddenly couldn't speak. A strange feeling ran through her that she couldn't quite identify and somehow didn't want to. She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. "I'll be right over," she replied before hanging up the phone. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus on breathing.

Finally, she headed into the bedroom and dug through the wardrobe for some clothes. A part of her was almost hopeful, as though it believed that everything would end now John was dead, but another part was less optimistic.

It knew that this was just the beginning.

* * *

Next episode... "As Good As It Gets"

Amy and Nick battle to clear PJ's name when he is charged with murder, only to realise the case is more complex than they thought. Ringo's newfound relationship bliss is cut short.


	9. Ep 29: As Good As It Gets

**Episode 29: "As Good As It Gets"**

_**Summary: **__Amy and Nick battle to clear PJ's name when he is charged with murder, only to realise the case is more complex than they thought. Ringo's newfound relationship bliss is cut short._

_Lyrics come from "Wonderwall" by Oasis._

Amy's ute was already sitting in the car park of the motor inn by the time Nick arrived. PJ had called him as soon as he had finished with Amy. He wasn't quite as subdued as he had been with Amy, but he wasn't alright. Nick knew even before he'd left his house that what he was going to see wasn't pretty.

He just wasn't quite prepared for the gore.

PJ was standing over the body when Nick let himself into the hotel room, while Amy stood about a metre back, her shoulders hunched and biting her bottom lip absentmindedly. Their expressions were blank and an uneasy silence hung in the air. It was almost as intolerable as the smell.

PJ spoke first. "It's John Maguire."

Nick pulled a face. "How can you tell?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

Amy's head suddenly snapped up as her emerald eyes met his. There was something about the look in Amy's eyes that worried Nick. The fire, the spark, the electricity had died. Her strength was fading and, somehow, Nick got the feeling that he had something to do with it.

_Backbeat the word was on the street  
__That the fire in your heart is out_

"It's him," she whispered and, burying her fists in the pockets of her coat, slipped past him to get some fresh air before the smell got to her. As soon as she was free of the hotel room, she ran her fingers back through her hair and drew in a deep breath to steady herself.

But she couldn't dismiss the feeling of dread that was growing in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

It was a couple of hours later that Amy found herself back at the police station, watching almost blindly as Nick brought Mark and Dash up to date. PJ was in the mess room, fixing their second coffees for the night. They'd all long worked out that they weren't going to get back to bed before daylight. They were waiting for Homicide to arrive. There wasn't much they could do for the moment, not with half the town asleep and no forensics results for at least another hour or two. All they could really do was wait.

She heard PJ return before she saw him. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before placing the blue Victoria Police mug down in front of her, the steam rising in wafting white clouds. She smiled in spite of herself as she closed her hands around it, letting the warmth run through her body. He paused, as though contemplating whether or not to kiss her, but sharply remembering her reaction to the nightmare, changed his mind and headed for his desk. Amy sighed a little. She hated what this was doing to them.

PJ had no sooner sat down at his desk then he heard the buzzer sound in the reception area. He frowned as Dash let the two figures through. As he recognised them, the frown became a very audible groan.

Confused, Amy looked up from her coffee. She didn't recognise the short man with the cropped blonde hair who was now pumping Mark's hand, but she did recognise the tall middle-aged blonde wearing a uniform. "Monica Draper," she mused, suddenly turning to PJ in confusion. "Why the hell are Ethical Standards involved?"

Realising what was going on, PJ pushed his coffee mug away. He suddenly felt very sick. He knew exactly what ESD wanted.

He and his colleagues had just become the prime suspects.

* * *

Mark ushered the two officers into his office, shooting Dash a warning look as he closed the door. He didn't think the look had made much difference. She was going to eavesdrop anyway. Doing his best to ignore the brunette crouched down below the windows to his office, he motioned for the visiting officers to take a seat. Monica sat, but the man remained standing.

"My name's Detective Sergeant Ken Olsen," he explained, tidying his suit absentmindedly. "Homicide Squad. I'm assuming you've already met Inspector Monica Draper."

Mark nodded as Monica offered him a half-smile. "Yes," he replied quietly as he sat down behind his desk. "We've met." He frowned at the pair as he let his hands rest on his desk. "So, what do we owe the pleasure of Ethical Standards' presence to?"

"Detective Sergeant Olsen phoned me," Monica explained, slipping her uniform jacket off and hanging it on the back of her chair. "I understand that John Maguire is Senior Detective Fox's uncle."

Mark drew in a deep breath. He didn't like this. "Yes," he admitted. "That's my understanding, but you'd have to ask her if you really want details."

An uneasy silence fell between them, which Olsen finally broke as he stepped forward. "I wanted Monica on this one," he explained. "The man sexually abused his niece, then he shows up dead when he moves to the same town. It'd be a miracle if a cop wasn't involved."

"You think Amy Fox had something to do with this?" Mark asked, leaning forward, protectiveness pulsing through him. He'd defended colleagues before – Falcon-Price and Alex Kirby came to mind – and been very disappointed, but he couldn't believe Amy had anything to do with it.

Olsen opened his mouth to speak, but Monica pre-empted him. "Perhaps not Amy Fox," she admitted. "It would have taken some very solid blows to completely obliterate the face. It probably wasn't the work of a woman." Monica hesitated, seemingly reluctant to continue. "But it is possible that another officer…"

"What? PJ Hasham?" Mark asked, eyes widening. He'd heard rumours about the antagonistic relationship between PJ and Monica, but he'd suspected that it had mellowed to the point that any residual bitterness was more out of habit than genuine dislike.

"Perhaps," Olsen replied with a shrug. He was beginning to pace the office. "Nick Schultz doesn't have a particularly glowing record as far as child molesters go, does he?"

Mark couldn't dignify that comment with an answer. Instead, he began to massage his temples furiously. Not again…

Recognising Mark's anxiety, Monica spoke up again, offering him a hint of a reassuring smile. "It's a line of inquiry, Mark," she explained. "Just routine."

Mark forced a smile for Monica's sake as she and Olsen left his office. But he didn't believe Monica one little bit. He knew what "just routine" was copper-speak for.

* * *

His mobile phone had been ringing almost constantly for the last half-hour, but Ringo wasn't answering. The man who'd attacked him had left and Chris had patched him up, but Ringo was still too angry. Which was precisely why he hadn't yet gone upstairs to talk to Emma.

Eventually, she came downstairs to him. She looked hesitant and uncomfortable and her eyes gave her away. Ringo looked away, lest she see the hurt in his eyes.

"I didn't know he was coming up here," she explained quietly. "I thought he was still in St. Davids."

"He's your boyfriend, isn't he?"

Emma didn't get a chance to answer. Chris had appeared, holding the pub cordless in her hand. She looked a little uneasy herself, recognising that she had just interrupted something horribly personal. "Sorry, Ringo," she apologised as she offered the phone to him. "It's Mark. You're needed at the station urgently."

Ringo waved it off. "Tell him I'll be there shortly," he replied. Chris looked as though she would have liked to inquire further but, seeing the expression on Ringo's face, thought better of it. As soon as Chris had gone, Ringo rounded on Emma. "You've already got a boyfriend."

She looked somewhat surprised at his reaction. "Wow," she mumbled quietly. "I didn't expect you to get so fuddy duddy about this."

He just stared. "You were having sex with me, and all the time you had a boyfriend in St. Davids?" He sighed and looked away momentarily before meeting her gaze. "Did you ever plan on telling me, or were you intending on keeping us both? Was I only ever going to be your weekday shag?"

He tried to stand up, only for Emma to grab his arm to stop him. "Ringo..."

He pulled away. "I've got to get to work."

As he headed up the stairs, he heard Emma's voice echoing up to him. "Fine! Have it your way! He's much more fun than you are, anyway!"

* * *

PJ felt uneasy as he sat down at the desk in the interview room. It felt wrong, seeing this room from this very different angle. Truth was, he was a little scared. Something about Olsen's demeanour told him that the detective was out for a quick resolution. And, as much as he had buried the hatchet with Monica Draper, he still didn't trust her as far as he could throw her.

Monica sat opposite him, unzipping her jacket as Olsen leant back against the far wall. When he spoke, it was in an almost casual voice, oddly cold in its apathy. "When did you first find out about your wife's abuse?"

He sighed, sitting back a little. He let his gaze drift to Monica. Her expression was something close to reassuring, which surprised him a little. "Several years ago," he replied finally, folding his arms across his chest. "We had a serial killer murdering victims of sexual abuse. Amy was abducted and that was when her ex told me."

"Her ex?" Monica asked, scribbling something on a piece of paper. "That would be Senior Detective Garth Henderson?"

PJ nodded. "Hmm, but don't bother chasing that lead up. He's been dead for more than a year. You ought to remember that."

Monica nodded. Her expression seemed to become reflective, even if only for half a second. Olsen's expression, however, did not change. "How much were you told?"

He hesitated before answering. "Not an awful lot. Garth didn't know much himself. I knew she'd been abused as a kid. Not when, not where, not who. I didn't learn the rest until later."

"How did it make you feel?" Monica asked, leaning forward a little.

He frowned, sorting back through the memories, trying to recall what exactly went through his mind in that instant after Garth had told him. Truth was, he couldn't quite remember. That case had been so testing, so hard, that most of his memories of it ran in together, becoming a little indistinct. Finally, he shrugged. "I don't really remember," he replied quietly. "I mean...sexual abuse is awful, no matter who it is...I just wanted to be there for her. Amy and I were just friends back then. I just wanted to be there to support her however I could."

Monica nodded understandingly, while Olsen shifted his weight against the wall as though trying to get comfortable. "When did you find out that it was her uncle?"

"Not until a month or so later," he replied. He sighed thoughtfully. "Her cousin had been brought in and it kind of set off alarm bells. I worked it out from there." He looked at Olsen before continuing. "And no, that revelation did not make me want to kill him," he pointed out, bitterness underlying his tone. "I've never liked John Maguire, alright. He was a sad, pathetic little man who deluded himself into thinking he was in love with his niece. The world's probably better off without him. But I didn't kill him. I would never do that."

* * *

"You're his best mate."

Nick shrugged at Olsen's question. "So?"

Olsen approached the table, remaining standing while Monica sat, pen poised in her hand. "So, Sergeant, I would have thought you'd have a fairly good idea of Senior Detective Hasham's state of mind lately."

He shrugged again. "He's doing fine...considering."

Olsen sighed, becoming increasingly irritable. PJ had been defensive, but Nick was simply uncommunicative. He was lucky to achieve a five word sentence. He leant down over the table so that his face was close to Nick's. "Does the name Vincent Benedict Platt mean anything to you?"

Nick was sure his heart had skipped a beat. Of course he knew the name. He was hardly about to forget the paedophile he had nearly strangled in the cells all those years ago. "Yes, I know it."

"You lost your temper, didn't you?" Olsen asked with a shrug. "Punched him, nearly throttled the bloke to death. I'm sure Inspector Draper here remembers the case too."

Nick looked to Monica. Her head was down and she was peering up at him, studying him silently. He turned back to Olsen. "I had become too emotionally involved in that case," he replied. "I lost my temper. But I stopped."

"Did it happen again?" Olsen asked. "Did you lose your temper with John Maguire, bash his face in?"

He shook his head. "No."

"But you didn't like him, did you? You and Senior Detective Fox are very close, aren't you?"

"So?"

Olsen sighed, drawing himself up to his full height and moving so that he was standing beside Nick. "She must have been very upset when Maguire showed up in town, devastated, even. Her whole world crashing down around her...every bit of her stability crumbling into dust..."

"Shut up." Nick massaged his temple with his hand, trying to keep himself calm. His temper could be very volatile, especially when he was so tired and stressed. He was close to losing it, he could feel it.

"Are you sure you didn't decide to mete out a little justice on her behalf?" Olsen queried. "Didn't decide to eliminate her problem permanently..."

"Shut up!" Nick finally snapped, rising to his feet and towering over Olsen. Monica didn't say anything, just watched silently. "I didn't kill Maguire. I never touched the pathetic excuse for a human being."

"Why should I believe you?" Olsen asked, shrugged nonchalantly.

"I have an alibi. I was at the Imperial Hotel. Check with Chris Riley if you don't believe me."

* * *

Ringo was long gone by the time Olsen and Monica arrived at the Imperial. He'd headed into the station and been assigned to crime scene guarding duties, as far as Chris knew. Emma had disappeared upstairs, probably to pack. She hadn't said anything to her, but Chris had the feeling that Emma was smart enough to know that staying on in Mt. Thomas was not an option after this incident.

She was sitting at the bar, downing a glass of scotch when the two officers entered. She recognised Monica almost instantly. The other one she didn't know. "I hope you knew we're closed," she told them, heading behind the bar to put the glass and bottle away.

"Ken Olsen, Homicide Squad," Olsen declared with a flash of his badge. "This is Monica Draper of the Ethical Standards Department. We need to speak to you about a murder that took place sometime during the night."

"John Maguire?" Chris asked, without looking up.

Olsen seemed miffed. "How did you know?"

"Nick Schultz was here when he got the call. Senior Sergeant Jacobs just called another officer in. Doesn't take a genius to join the dots."

"So Sergeant Schultz has been here for the whole night?" Monica clarified, noting something down.

Chris nodded. "He's been in practically every night since he and his wife got back."

"Got back from where?"

"Sydney," she replied. "They were up visiting Nick's parents. Their sons died not long ago."

Monica looked away and made a quiet apology. Olsen, on the other hand, seemed less concerned. "You'd be prepared to make a statement, saying Nick Schultz was here? Be prepared to swear to it in court?"

Chris looked at him pointedly. "Nick Schultz was here. What more can I say?"

Olsen nodded and turned to leave. Monica offered Chris a half-smile. "Thanks for your time. If you think of anything at all, please let us know, okay?"

As they headed for the door, something began nagging at Chris. Before she could stop herself, she was calling them back. "Detective?"

Olsen stopped and turned back to her. "Ms. Riley?"

She hesitated, still not sure what to say. "This may be completely irrelevant, but..."

Olsen interrupted her. "Ms. Riley, typically when someone starts a sentence with 'this may be completely irrelevant', everything that follows is hugely relevant."

She nodded slowly. "The night before last, PJ Hasham was in here with Nick."

Olsen suddenly became interested. "Hasham? Go on."

"I overheard him saying something..." Chris paused and shook her head. "No, it's unimportant..."

"If you don't tell me, Ms. Riley, I will have you charged with obstruction," Olsen warned her. "What did Hasham say?"

"He said...he said that if John Maguire was in front of his car and the brakes failed, it wouldn't be his fault," she finally explained. At this, Olsen smiled, thanked her and left, with Monica Draper in tow. As soon as they were gone, Chris covered her eyes with her hands.

She'd just delivered PJ to them on a platter.

* * *

Olsen closed the door behind him as he entered the interview room. PJ was sitting at the table, staring at him in an almost daring kind of way. He was tired and stressed and had lost all patience with this farce. "You cannot seriously think that I killed him," he finally said, his gaze switching between Olsen and Monica as he spoke.

"Why not?" Olsen asked with a shrug. "The man sexually abused your wife. That is a very good motive for murder."

PJ shook his head. "I never touched him."

"Your prints are all over the crime scene," Olsen pointed out.

"I've already explained that..."

Olsen rolled his eyes. "Yes, you've explained that. But you haven't explained the threats you made against John Maguire. In fact, you haven't even mentioned them."

PJ's eyes narrowed in confusion. His gaze flashed to Monica momentarily, silently begging her for answers, before turning back to Olsen. "What...what threats? I never made any threats."

"Really? So you never told Sergeant Schultz that you would willingly commit vehicular homicide if John Maguire ended up in front of your car?"

PJ's face suddenly went blank. He felt winded. It was a few seconds before he could gather himself again. "That was not a serious threat. It was never a serious threat."

Olsen shrugged. "So what was it then?"

He shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't know...just...letting off some steam."

Olsen sighed before sitting down opposite PJ. "I don't know about you, Hasham, but generally when someone's been making threats like that, then someone else turns up dead, I look at the threatener for answers."

"I don't have any," PJ replied. "I didn't kill him."

"You know how he died, Hasham?" Olsen asked. "Someone bashed his skull in. The first blow killed him, but then the murderer decided to follow it up with more of the same. Bashed his face until it was just a bloodied pulp. Who do you think would want to do that?"

PJ shrugged. "Would you like that list alphabetically? The man had a vigilante group camped outside his hotel room. Half the town could have done it."

Olsen shook his head. "No. Maguire's face had been beaten in. Multiple, powerful blows to the face. His murderer didn't just want him dead. His face was obliterated. That means it's personal, that the killer is someone who truly hates him. As far as I can see, there is only one person John Maguire wronged that badly..."

"You leave Amy out of this..." PJ interjected.

"...and that person is married to a man who made threats," Olsen finished, as though he hadn't heard PJ. "He sexually abused her. Now, I don't know about you, but if someone had done that to my wife, I'd be seeing red too. Might contemplate murder myself."

"Alright." PJ finally said, sitting back in his chair. "You want to know the truth? Fine. I didn't like John Maguire. I thought he was a pathetic little man. I'm not sad he's dead and I think that whoever killed him probably did the world a favour. But it wasn't me. I really don't know how I can possibly dumb it down anymore for you. I. Didn't. Do. It." He paused, letting his words sink in.

Olsen thought for a few seconds before shrugging. "Is that all you're prepared to say?"

PJ shrugged. "It's all I can say. And I'm getting really sick of this, so I'm giving you two choices. Either you charge me right now, or you let me go. Because you can't continue to hold me."

"Fine," Olsen replied, glancing briefly to Monica Draper before rising to his feet. "Patrick Joseph Hasham, I am charging you with the murder of John Edward Maguire. Is there anything you would like to say in response to this charge?"

PJ drew in a deep breath. It wasn't the first time he'd been on the receiving end of a murder charge, but it was the first time he was terrified that it would stick. Truth was, in Olsen's shoes, he'd be suspecting himself. Finally, he sighed. "I want to see my wife."

* * *

PJ was in Mark's office by the time Amy saw him again, ushered in by Monica Draper. Her eyes immediately drifted down to the handcuffs around his wrists. Panic rushed through her. Now she understood why Monica had behaved so oddly when telling her she could see him.

"You can leave the room, you know," PJ reassured Monica. "She's not going to help me escape."

Nodding, Monica slipped away silently. Still, Amy didn't have to look to know that they were being watched through the windows to Mark's office.

She stood, for a moment unable to speak. She was too scared she'd break down into tears. Finally, she raised her head and met PJ's eyes. "They've charged you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded as he stepped uneasily towards her, raising his cuffed hands to brush at her cheek gently. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "Olsen is having me remanded at St. Davids and Monica has had me suspended pending dismissal if I'm convicted."

Amy shook her head. "It can't get that far, surely," she protested. "You didn't do it, you're innocent. The charges can't stick."

PJ remained silent for a moment before shrugging. "Put yourself in their shoes. What would you be thinking?" Seeing the tears beginning to form in her eyes, he cupped her cheek in his hand and offered her a tender smile. It was a forced smile, but it was the best he could do. It all he could do to try to make her feel better. "It'll be okay," he told her softly. "You and me, we'll make it through this."

She stared at him, desperately trying to make herself trust in PJ's words. She knew what he was trying to do, and knew that it wasn't working. "I don't believe you," she replied in a shaky whisper.

He wanted to say something, anything to take Amy's pain away, but nothing came to mind. In the end, he pressed his lips gently against hers, letting the action speak for itself. They remained locked together until the door opened and Olsen appeared.

"Time to go," he told them.

PJ broke away from Amy, his heart breaking as he watched the tears roll silently down her cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his hand before smiling at her once more. "I love you," he said, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear before pulling his hand away.

She forced a smile through her tears. "I love you too, Peej," she whispered. She kept her sobs silent until Olsen led PJ away into the muster room. Then, she covered her face with her hands, sinking into the swivel chair opposite Mark's desk.

The other officers were waiting for PJ in the muster room. They didn't speak, seemingly lost for words. It was only Nick who stepped forward, grabbing PJ's arm as he pulled him aside. "They won't make it stick, mate," he vowed. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

PJ didn't respond to Nick's comment. Instead, he nodded back to Mark's office as little tears brimmed in his eyes. "Look after Amy for me," he told him, looking up to meet Nick's gaze. "Just...look after her. Please."

Nick nodded. "Of course," he promised.

With that, Olsen grabbed PJ's shoulder and led him out of the station, with Monica following closely behind, still holding PJ's badge in her hand.

* * *

Nick stood alone in the mess room, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. He'd left the muster room as soon as he could. It was too much for him to deal with, listening to the others debate whether or not PJ had really crossed the line. He was barely in one piece as it was.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't hear Amy enter, or even realise that she was there until she reached across his line of sight to get her mug. "You okay, Foxtrot?" he asked, without thinking.

She rounded on him, looking completely exasperated. "Why does everyone have to keep asking me if I'm okay?" she demanded hotly. She glared at Nick for a moment, before the hurt expression on his face told her what she'd done. She pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging them furiously. "Sorry," she apologised quietly. "It's just...everyone keeps asking how I am and..." She trailed off, shrugging, completely lost for words.

He nodded in understanding. He held up the coffee tin. "You want a coffee?"

She nodded, slumping back against the bench. "I'd kill for a coffee," she replied. She played with her hair absentmindedly as she watched Nick heap spoonfuls into her mug. "PJ didn't kill him," she whispered, causing Nick to meet her gaze. "I know he didn't. No one else believes him."

"I do," Nick reassured her. "I know PJ had nothing to do with it. Patrick might be a stupid bloody idiot sometimes, but he wouldn't do this. Certainly not this."

Amy seemed relieved at this. She began biting her lip absentmindedly. "I just wish that Homicide and ESD knew that too."

"Make them." Nick answered simply. She looked to him in confusion and he elaborated. "Find the evidence, find the real killer..."

She smiled. "Would you help me?"

He nodded as he handed her the cup of coffee. "It would be a pleasure."

* * *

Mark sat alone at the desk, staring vacantly through the glass separating his side of the room from the other. He was at the remand centre, waiting for someone to bring PJ to him. He'd had to speak to him. He knew Amy had tried and failed to get through. She'd disappeared from the station just before he'd left, dragging Nick Schultz behind her. He had gotten the distinct impression that she was going to run her own investigation.

Finally, the door opened and PJ appeared, smiling weakly at him as he sat down opposite. "Hi, Boss."

"How are you holding up?" Mark asked, eyeing PJ worriedly. Truth was, he was concerned. A copper amongst criminals – never a good omen.

PJ shrugged. "Well, it could be worse," he commented.

"I tried to convince Olsen that having you remanded was pointless," Mark explained. "Monica agreed with me, said that bailing you was the better option. But he wouldn't listen. I think he's worried you'd do a runner."

PJ laughed weakly. "It's probably my best option at the moment," he pointed out. "Just about any jury would convict on Olsen's evidence."

"Just in case this does get to court..." Mark looked down and began digging through the pockets of his jacket. He finally pulled out a yellow post-it note with a name and phone number written on it. "...here's a lawyer you might want to get in touch with."

Reading the name, PJ let out a low whistle. "Only the best, eh?" he asked with a smile. "Hopefully his abilities are in proportion to his fees."

"He'll take the case pro bono," Mark assured him. "We were at school together. He still owes me a couple of favours. He's very good. If anyone can get you off, he can."

PJ nodded slowly, the smile fading from his face. He pulled a white envelope out of his pocket and set it down on the desk. "I wrote a letter for Amy," he explained. I want you to give it to her."

"You could give it to her yourself," Mark told him pointedly. "You should let her come."

PJ shook his head firmly. "No," he declared. "Give it to her. Please."

Mark went to argue further, only to change his mind. He nodded as PJ slipped the envelope under the glass barrier. "I'll make sure she gets it," he promised. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "She and Nick are out there, I imagine they are trying to find evidence to clear you."

PJ smiled weakly. He wanted to say something to take that troubled look off Mark's face, but words failed him. He could only hope Amy and Nick could find the evidence to clear his name.

* * *

Amy drew in a deep breath to steady herself as she entered the motel room. It seemed to smell worse than before, with the stench of blood still lingering in the air. The image of John's body returned to her sharply. "Alright, Nick," she said, combing her fringe back from her face as she headed further inside. "You know the drill. We need something that might indicate who killed John Maguire."

Nick nodded as he headed into the kitchenette. He opened the cupboards, digging around inside. Not that there was much to dig around in.

Sighing, Amy padded down the hallway to the bedroom. Almost instantly, her autopilot kicked in and she began searching. She crouched down to look under the bed and, noticing something square and white, grabbed it. Kneeling, she turned it over in her hand.

"Nick!" she called, standing up slowly.

"Foxtrot?" he called back. "Where are you?"

"In here."

Nick appeared in the doorway, arms folded. "You find something?"

Amy held the object out to him. "It was under the bed."

Nick's eyes widened. It was a photograph of Amy from her wedding day.

* * *

"How the hell Homicide, ESD, Crime Scene, Forensics and everyone else missed that is totally beyond me…" Amy lamented, studying the photograph while Nick pulled his seatbelt on.

"Their incompetence is beside the point," he reminded her. "That, if anything, actually strengthens their case against PJ. It might be construed that it fell out of PJ's pocket while he was killing him."

She looked at him pointedly. "PJ doesn't carry a photo in his pocket. He has one in his wallet, he has one on his key ring, but not in his pocket."

Nick shrugged. "We could dust it for prints," he suggested. "But unless he's a copper or a crim, we'd have to fingerprint the entire population to work out who the killer is." He looked to her thoughtfully. "Who would have a wedding photo?"

Amy frowned. "A lot of people," she replied. "The wedding was hardly a secret. Just about anybody could get their hands on a photo if they wanted."

"It'd have to be someone who knew you," Nick mused. "The attack on his face means it's personal, the photo confirms it. Who else knows about the abuse?"

She forced a smile. "Aside from the whole town?" she asked, before sighing and becoming more serious. "Well, Tom Croydon, Susie Raynor and Garth Henderson all knew, but they didn't do it for obvious reasons…I told Kelly, but I didn't go into specifics…" Her brow furrowed. "There's Dash, Pat, my cousin, Bill Lapscott…"

Nick's eyes widened. "The name sounds familiar. Who's he?"

"A psychologist," Amy replied. "I met him while we were investigating a series of killings…"

Nick remembered now, listening as PJ had sat with him in the mine shaft, talking about how he had sought professional counselling at long last. "You had some sessions with Lapscott?"

She shrugged. "A couple. Then, it got way too complicated and he referred me on."

"Complicated how?"

Amy sighed. She remained silent for a moment before finally meeting Nick's curious eyes. "We'd…dated before I started seeing him about the abuse."

Nick suddenly looked more interested. "Dated?"

"Once," she replied curtly. When Nick seemed unsatisfied, she continued. "We spend half the night sitting in the public bar of the Imperial Hotel, talking about the case, before Chris kicked us out when she wanted to go to bed. That's it. We did nothing."

"Was he happy to leave it at that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. He was even happy for me that I'd decided to seek counselling." She sighed thoughtfully. "For the first time in my life, I felt completely and totally understood. But it could never have gone anywhere. Probably wouldn't have. At that point in my life, I needed a psychologist more than a love interest."

Nick frowned. "If you two were close…" he mused.

She turned to him sharply. "What are you trying to say, Nick?"

One look in his eyes said it all. Nick had found his suspect.

* * *

"Do you want to know just how completely ludicrous this whole idea is?" Amy demanded, glaring at Nick as he drove. They were headed for Bill Lapscott's clinic, in spite of her protests of Bill's innocence. "He's a psychologist, he works with victims of sexual abuse for a living. I'm sure even we would have worked it out by now if he started bumping the abusers off."

Nick pulled the car to a stop. "But you weren't just a patient, were you?" he reminded her. "He was interested enough to have dinner with you. Maybe he would have liked to see that go further and, when it couldn't, figured that killing your uncle was the best way he could help you."

She looked to him doubtfully. "I haven't even seen him in years, Nick," she pointed out.

Nick shrugged as he undid his seatbelt. He said nothing as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Sighing in frustration, Amy followed him.

It took a few rings of the doorbell before Bill appeared; wearing what appeared to be that day's clothes, albeit very crumpled. Amy couldn't help a smile at the sight of him. He smiled back, recognising her instantly. "Senior Detective Fox," he said fondly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You always sleep at your clinic?" Nick asked.

Bill shrugged. "I'd been writing up some notes. By the time I was finished, I was too tired to drive home. I didn't realise being a workaholic was a crime."

Nick waved the photo at him. "That yours?"

He studied it, before shaking his head. "No."

"Did you know John Maguire was back in Mt. Thomas?" Nick asked.

Bill sighed, meeting Amy's gaze momentarily before nodding. "I did hear about that, yes. It became something of a talking point in one of my sessions." He looked to Nick coolly. "But I didn't kill him, if that is what you're trying to get at."

Nick frowned. "How did you know he'd been murdered?"

He shrugged. "Police showing up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, the general atmosphere in this town lately…the news story on the radio…"

Amy groaned inwardly. It seemed Tony Timms would get an even better story now.

"Where have you been during the last few hours?" Nick asked.

Bill folded his arms and sighed. "I don't have an alibi, Sergeant. I've been writing notes. I don't tend to do that in front of an audience."

Nick shrugged. "Can we see them?"

He shrugged back. "Can I see a warrant?" He paused, looking to Amy curiously. "Why is it you two, anyway? Shouldn't someone from Homicide be grilling me?"

Amy looked away, folding her arms against her chest and sighing, clearly irritated.

Bill rounded on Nick. "Are you going on anything more than a hunch, Sergeant?" At Nick's silence, he nodded, understanding. "In which case, I'm asking you to leave. Come back if you find something more solid than your insubstantial guesswork."

With that, Bill closed the door. Nick fumed silently as he stormed back to the car, while Amy found herself staring thoughtfully at the closed door for a moment before following after him.

* * *

Mark was staring at the envelope PJ had given him when Nick and Amy returned. He stuffed it in his pocket and went out into the muster room to meet them. "Did you find anything?"

Nick offered Mark the evidence bag containing the photograph. "It was at the crime scene," he explained.

Mark turned it over in his hand, frowning. "Is it PJ's?"

"No," Amy replied, not giving Nick a chance to answer. "It'd belong to the killer."

"We'll get it dusted," Nick added, sitting it on his desk, "but don't hold your breath."

Mark said nothing. He dug into his pocket and offered the envelope to Amy. She stared at it in confusion for a moment before taking it. "I went to visit PJ," he explained. "He told me to give that to you."

Amy nodded in understanding and thanked Mark. He headed back to his office and she began tearing at it.

"Lapscott was frosty, wasn't he?" Nick mused, sitting back in his swivel chair.

"Well, you were accusing him of murder," Amy reminded him as she unfolded PJ's letter. "Not everyone responds politely to that."

Nick sighed. "I suppose he is a psychologist," he admitted with a shrug. "He's used to getting inside peoples' heads." Amy didn't respond. She was staring at the letter, wide-eyed. "Foxtrot? You right there?"

Again, she remained silent. Nick gently pried the letter from her hands and immediately knew what the problem was.

"Amez..."

She didn't look up. "He said that he wants me to leave him if the trial goes badly," she explained. She tried to continue, but words failed her.

Nick tried to say something to reassure her, but it was too late. Amy was gone.

At a time when she felt so alone and frightened, it was all she could do to head for one other person besides PJ who had ever made her feel completely understood, comfortable and, above all, safe.

* * *

Bill Lapscott had scarcely dozed off again on the couch at his clinic when the doorbell rang. Groaning, he climbed up to answer the door. His eyes widened as he recognised the woman standing on the doorstep, her hair windblown and her eyes red. "Amy?"

"Can I come in?"

He nodded, stepping aside and ushering her in. "Of course," he replied, closing the door behind her. He led her through to his couch and motioned for her to sit down beside him. "What's wrong?"

She looked to him for a moment before sighing dimly. "Everything," she answered. "Homicide and ESD think PJ killed my uncle."

Bill initially looked surprised, before understanding and realisation spread across his face. "That would explain Sergeant Schultz's determination to charge me, then," he mused. "I suppose as far as suspects go, I must look pretty good." He frowned thoughtfully. "But if PJ's innocent, surely they can't have any evidence?"

"They have plenty," she replied angrily. "Most of it's circumstantial, but it's enough for them to charge him and have him remanded and would be enough to convince a jury." She dug through her jacket pocket until she found the photograph. "Nick and I tried to find some evidence to clear him and we found this. Nick thought it might have been yours, I think he still believes you might have been lying."

"What you do believe?"

Amy stuffed the photo away and shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that the photo isn't PJ's and that PJ didn't do it. And now PJ's asked me to divorce him if the trial doesn't go our way." She looked away; unable to bear the expression on Bill's face a second longer. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching a glimpse of his soft, concerned expression through her dark curtain of hair. It was that same caring expression that had first encouraged her to open up to him nearly five years ago. Suddenly, the words tumbled out before she could coordinate herself to stop them. "I just...don't feel like I'm entirely solid..."

Bill nodded thoughtfully. "With everything that has been going on lately, that is an understandable feeling."

She stared at him, swallowing hard as she continued. "It's like...I'm losing my grip on everything and the harder I try to hold on, the faster it's slipping out of my hands..."

He remained silent for a moment, contemplating Amy's words.

She finally looked away, shaking her head in disbelief at herself. "I'm sorry, Bill," she apologised quietly. "I'll...I'll go..."

Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist as she got up to leave. She looked down at him in surprise. "How long has it been since you've seen somebody?" he asked, meeting her gaze.

"Seen somebody?" she asked dumbly.

"A psychologist, a counsellor...at this point, I'd almost settle for Lucy van Pelt with her psychiatrist's booth," Bill replied. Amy remained silent and it spoke more than words could have. "You're trying to cope with so much. You're holding it in, trying to deal with it all on your own..."

She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, but even she knew she was lying. The response had been too quick out of her mouth, too automatic, too uncertain.

"Amy..." Bill began, gently sitting her down once again, "no one can be expected to cope on their own, and especially not with everything you've had to cope with. The abuse, the attack, your friend's son drowning...you don't just get over those things and you'd be a fool to think you can."

Amy met his gaze for a moment before shrugging and looking away.

He thought for a moment before continuing. "Everyone has a weight that they carry around with them. Something from their past, a part of themselves that they don't necessarily like, responsibilities that they may or may not have imagined for themselves...at the moment, you're trying to carry them all, and it's becoming a very heavy burden." Amy stared at him silently as he gently squeezed her hand. "But everyone can choose to unburden themselves, even if only temporarily. You can choose to set that weight down, and that is when you see the way things really are."

She sighed as she bit her lip. "I just...don't quite know what to do...how to let go..."

"You don't have to take responsibility for everything," he reassured her. "And you certainly do not have to cope with everything on your own or blame yourself for things beyond your control."

She nodded slowly. "I feel so alone sometimes, Bill," she admitted finally. "All these years...I've been preaching about being grateful for surviving and just moving on and suddenly...it's all just stopped working. I don't quite know what to do."

"What about PJ?" Bill asked. Amy remained silent. He sighed. "I think what you're getting at is that you haven't been confiding in PJ as much lately. You miss that."

She shrugged sadly. "It's just that there's been so much going on...I just don't know if I can burden him with that as well..."

He paused before he continued speaking. "Amy, you know about my history. Before I became I psychologist, part of my job was marrying people. I still remember the vows. Right now, you're denying PJ the privilege of living up to them."

She remained silent for a moment before looking to him with tears in her eyes. "I love him. I love him in a way I never imagined I could ever love anyone. And now he's in prison and talking about divorce. And then I think back to Christmas, before everything went wrong, back when we were all happy and...it just hurts."

Bill simply shrugged. "Let him in," he told her. "He loves you."

She nodded again and Bill decided to change the subject.

"On what grounds have they charged PJ?" Bill asked, shuffling on the couch a little to give Amy some space.

"His prints are on the murder weapon," she explained, "he...picked it up without thinking when he arrived on the scene. He was found standing over the body...he made a stupid threat when he thought no one was listening...John's face was bashed in so they think it was personal..."

Bill made a funny sound that caught Amy's attention and caused her to meet his gaze. "He's right," he mused. "Homicide's theory is right; they've just used it to reach the wrong conclusion." At Amy's silence, he continued. "The face is the symbol of our identity. The fact that it was completely obliterated indicates a deep hatred, a very personal motive. Not PJ, of course, but it is likely someone else who knows you and know about your abuse."

She began biting her bottom lip thoughtfully. "So it is about me."

* * *

Chris was standing behind the bar when Mark entered. A few patrons had started to trickle in. Not many, but a few. Evidently most of the vigilante mob had decided to disband following John Maguire's death.

He met Chris' gaze and smiled, motioned for her to follow him into the Parlour. She closed the door behind her, having no sooner done that when Mark pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips hard against hers. He had been craving her, the touch of her skin, the feel of her fiery red ringlets, the sound of her voice.

She kissed him back momentarily before breaking away. "Do you think this is such a good idea?" she asked. "Someone is going to see..."

He nodded. "I think it is a brilliant idea," he replied. "It has been hell, Chris."

She nodded in agreement, running her hands along his forearms. She felt guilty, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. She'd handed PJ to Homicide on a platter...

"What's wrong?" he asked, cupping her chin in his hand.

She pulled away. "It's my fault," she replied. "I was the one who told that Olsen character about the threat PJ made." Mark looked confused, so she continued. "PJ was here, with Nick. He made some stupid comment about it not being his fault if Maguire was in front of his car and his breaks failed...and stupid me told that cocky Homicide bastard!" She shook her head in disbelief at her own actions. "I must have temporarily gone mad...I mean, I don't think he did it. I don't think PJ's got it in him to kill someone like that...I should've just kept my mouth shut..."

Mark shook his head as he ran his hand along her cheekbone. "For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing," he told her.

"By dropping PJ in it?"

"They'd have found out sooner or later. They always do. PJ would have been a natural suspect from the get-go. Even without a threat, he was likely to end up arrested. If the threat had been found out and neither you nor Nick had come forward, the pair of you probably would have ended up facing claims of covering up," he pointed out.

She just stared at him. "And what about PJ?" she asked. "What do we do about him? Is there any way we can get him out on bail or clear him or something?"

"Amy and Nick are working on clearing him," Mark explained. "Between their determination, skills and backgrounds in Homicide, if anyone can clear PJ, it's those two. As for bail...Olsen believes he may be a flight risk."

"That's pathetic!" Chris exclaimed.

"I know, I know, and Monica Draper did agree with me, but Olsen managed to veto us both." Mark sighed. He opened his mouth to say something else, when a knock sounded on the Parlour door. It was one of Chris' barmen, wanting her to come out to handle someone wanting to rent a room. "I better let you get back to it," he told her.

Chris smiled weakly. As soon as the barman had left, she kissed his lips tenderly, before letting her hands linger on his cheeks. "Tell me as soon as anything happens," she instructed.

Mark nodded and slipped away. Chris remained in the Parlour for a few seconds, too drained emotionally to want to return to the public bar, before heading out herself, only to find herself confronted with a curly-haired stranger.

Yet, he didn't appear all that strange at all. His eyes seemed startlingly familiar, a find of shade of hazel that leant more towards an emerald green. A mop of curly brown hair covered most of the lines on his face, making him seem somewhat younger than the mid-thirties age range Chris placed in him.

"Chris Riley?" he asked, offering his hand. She took it, surprised by its strength.

"Yes?" she replied, still somewhat dazed from the events of the last few days, and still busy trying to work out just who this man reminded her of.

"I was wondering if I could rent a room. I'm not quite sure how long I'll be staying, a few days at least..."

She nodded, grabbing the book from her office. "Sure...could I just grab a name?"

He laughed. "Of course," he replied. "It's Damian Maguire."

* * *

The envelope seemed a heavy weight in Nick's pocket while he waited for PJ to emerge. When he finally did, he found his anger briefly tempered by concern. At least one criminal had decided to take advantage of a police officer in prison, leaving PJ with a rather nasty black right eye and a bruise on the back of his head.

PJ forced a smile in spite of himself as he sat down on his side of the glass. "Hi, Nick."

Nick couldn't bring himself to respond in kind. "If we weren't separated by glass, I'd have a right mind to punch your face off, Patrick." He paused, reconsidering his comment. "Although it looks as though someone has already had a go at that."

He looked confused. "I don't understand..."

Nick pulled the letter out of his pocket and sat it down on the table in front of him. By the expression on PJ's face, he'd recognised it instantly. "What on earth were you thinking, getting the Boss to deliver that to Amy? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"What are you doing with that?" PJ asked, his voice deadpan.

"Funnily enough, your wife didn't put up too much of a fight for it after she found out that you want a divorce if the trial goes belly-up," he pointed out. "And by the way, did I thank you for completely upsetting her? She took off; I don't know where she went. She's not answering her mobile."

PJ buried his face in his hand. "I didn't mean to hurt her, Nick."

Nick stared at him for a moment. "Really? I can't imagine what you thought this was going to achieve."

PJ slowly lowered his hand before sitting back and sighing despondently. "You really want to know what my chances are, Nick?" he asked. "They are bad. Really, really bad. You don't have to be a lawyer to know that any jury will convict me based on this evidence. Mark recommended a lawyer, a really good one. I mean best of the best. I had a meeting with him, we went over the case." PJ leant in closer as Nick's anger began to dissolve a slightly. "You want to know what advice he gave me? Plead guilty, spin the judge a sob story, look remorseful and hopefully I'll be out before I'm seventy."

Nick couldn't keep the horror out of his face. He knew PJ could see it. "Mate..."

"Best case scenario," PJ continued, "I might get a non-parole period of ten years, maybe a bit less depending on whether or not I can get a bleeding heart judge on the day." He paused, the tears welling up in his eyes making it too difficult for him to continue speaking. "What sort of a life is that for Amy? Married to a man in prison, running her life around visiting hours...not to mention what it would do to her career, being married to a convicted murderer. By the time I'd be even a semi-free man again, I'd probably be in my sixties. She'd be in her forties, at least. I am not letting her waste those years of her life."

Nick just shook his head. "But surely that would be Amy's choice to make..."

PJ shook his head in reply as tears ran down his cheeks and he became choked up by sobs. "No," he answered. He paused for a moment. "You know, I never thought I'd ever love anyone the way I loved Maggie, but then I started loving Amy...Nick...what you have to understand is that I love her far too much to let her throw away her life for me." He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and his conviction. "And if that means hurting us both in the short term to protect her long-term happiness, then I will do it."

As PJ got up to go, Nick jumped up. "We won't let it get that far, mate," he vowed. "There is evidence out there and we will find it."

PJ didn't respond to Nick's words. Instead he simply forced a smile. "Just look after her for me, please," he begged, before letting himself be led away by a guard.

* * *

Nick was sitting in the public bar of the Imperial Hotel when Amy suddenly entered. He stared at her, for a moment unable to speak.

"Hey, Nick," she finally offered, pulling up a chair opposite him at the table. "Sorry for taking off like that."

"Where were you?"

She forced a smile. "Bill Lapscott's." As Nick pulled a face, she elaborated. "He didn't do it. He did, however, give me some ideas."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"He thinks Olsen had it right when he said that the attack on John's face means the face was personal," she explained. "The face is our identity. Its destruction indicates deep hatred. Besides, it's got to be personal if you're going to risk hanging around long enough after killing someone to do that to them."

He thought for a moment before shrugging. "So who do you think did it, if not Bill?"

"Well, it's got to be someone who knows about the abuse," she replied.

"I thought we went over this," Nick pointed out. "We decided none of them could have done it."

She frowned, biting her bottom lip absentmindedly. "Maybe it was one of the vigilante mob..."

Her train of thought was distracted as Chris emerged from upstairs. Her face lit up as she saw Amy. "You'll never guess who's staying here."

Amy frowned. "Who?"

"Your cousin," Chris replied.

"Brendan?" Amy asked, confused. "I thought he was still in Perth."

Chris shook her head. "No, not Brendan. Damian. He checked in earlier. I think he's in the dining room if you want to see him." She waved a hand in that general direction. "He was a little shaken by the news about his father's death, but he seems keen to see you."

Chris lingered for a moment, waiting to see if Amy replied. When Amy instead remained silent, she forced a smile and slipped away.

Nick sat back, raising an eyebrow. "How long has it been since you've seen Damian?" he asked as he recognised the stunned expression on Amy's face.

"Years," she replied. "Not since...not since I was sixteen." As she spoke, she turned around and craned her neck to get a look at him. She recognised him almost instantly, with his mop of dark curls and hazel-green eyes. But even as she saw him, something sounded in the back of her mind. PJ recalling his efforts to find whoever had fed Comp and Richo the information, Mister Average...

Nick waved a hand in front of her face. "Foxtrot? You in there?"

She nodded, but didn't look away from Damian. "It's him."

"What?"

"Damian. He did it. He's the one who one killed John. I know it."

Nick went to reply, but didn't get the chance because Damian had left the dining room and was approaching them. He beamed at the sight of Amy. "Amy? Amy Fox? I thought that was you."

She feigned a smile. "Damian."

He looked as though he was about to hug her, only to change his mind and offer her a handshake instead. "Wow..." he laughed, running a hand back through his curls. "How long has it been...eighteen years?"

She looked to Nick briefly. He was sitting back, grinning stupidly. She cursed him silently. He wasn't helping. "Yeah, something like that," she replied as she looked back to her cousin.

He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and dragged it over to join Amy and Nick. "So who's this?" he asked, nodding as Nick. "Did I get your name wrong earlier? Should it be Amy..." he paused as he read Nick's name badge. "Schultz?"

Nick blushed bright red and downed his glass of water. Amy looked to him before turning back to Damian. "No, no," she answered. "This is Nick Schultz; he's a friend of mine. I am married, but to someone else." She didn't go into any further detail. There was no point in revealing her entire hand to Damian.

"So...Brendan told me you'd joined the coppers," Damian said. "You're a detective, right?"

She nodded. "You talk to Brendan much?"

He shook his head. "Not really," he replied. "We fell out a while ago. We were always a bit like chalk and cheese when we were kids, you and Mum were the only two who could keep the peace between us. After you left and Mum died...let's just say I wasn't too far behind you in getting out of there."

Amy had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying too much. Meanwhile, her mind was ticking over. If Damian was in contact with Brendan, he had a source of wedding photos...

"What do you do for a crust?" Nick asked, kicking Amy under the table to snap her back to reality.

"I've got a little restaurant in Melbourne," he responded. "Nothing fancy, but I like it."

Amy nodded. "Are you married, or..."

He laughed weakly. "I was. Twice. Both train wrecks. No kids." He shrugged the topic off. "We have to catch up sometime. I'll shout you and the Sergeant here if you'd like..."

Amy shook her head as she jumped to her feet, kicking Nick hard under the table so that he would do the same thing. "Ah, we've actually got some stuff we've got to do at work, so..." she gestured vaguely.

Damian looked disappointed, but nodded understandingly all the same. "Some other time, then."

"Yeah, maybe," she replied, feigning a smile. But she couldn't quite keep the awkwardness from her face as she turned on her heel and dragged Nick out of the Imperial.

* * *

Nick leant back against the bonnet of the CI car, Amy beside him. They had headed back to the station, but hadn't yet gone back inside. Neither of them were really ready to face the others yet. Mark would have too many questions about the letter, Dash and Ringo would have too many questions about the case.

"What makes you think it's Damian?" Nick asked with a shrug. "He might have just heard you were here and that his father was dead and decided to come visit."

Amy began biting her bottom lip. "He fits the evidence, Nick," she replied. "He fits the description of the man who fed Compo and Richo the story."

"Mister Average?" Nick queried, eyebrow raised. "You'd have to do better than that, Foxtrot."

She sighed. "I think he assaulted John, too." At Nick's bewildered stare, she continued. "He sustained injuries to the front of his head. He wasn't attacked from behind. He had no excuse for not having at least a vague idea of who hit him. What if it wasn't about trying to keep the peace? What if he was protecting his son?"

Nick's expression became thoughtful. "I suppose that would explain why he was so desperate to not press charges," he mused. "After all, he'd probably feel partly responsible for Damian's actions."

She nodded slowly. "He admitted himself that he's been talking to Brendan," she pointed out. "He could have easily told him all about the abuse. Brendan may have even sent him wedding photos."

Nick frowned. "But he didn't know you were married," he reminded her. "He even thought you might have been married to me."

"Means nothing," she replied. She met Nick's gaze and upon seeing his doubtful stare, continued. "You think I want it to be Damian? We were close when we were kids. He's only a year old than I am, we had similar interests...I loved him. When Sally threw me out, he was the only one I really missed. But..." she paused as silent tears began to appear. "He's the only suspect we've got. Like it or not, we've got evidence pointing towards him. We have to investigate him."

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. "So where do you want me to start?"

She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. "He's only surfaced publicly now, but if I'm right, he's been lying low in town for a few days. We need to check out all the hotels, motels, pubs, whatever. Not just in Mt. Thomas either – we'll need to check St. Davids and Widgeree too."

Nick nodded. "I'll get started."

* * *

Ringo stared at his mobile, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to pick it up. He hadn't heard from Emma, didn't know whether he wanted to call her or not. She had done such a heel face turn on him, it was hard to believe that she was really the same girl he had so happily flirted with and jumped into bed with.

He finally sighed and stuffed his mobile back in his pocket. He'd deal with it later.

* * *

Amy stood alone in the mess room, staring into the depths of her coffee. Her mind had drifted away, becoming little more than a whir of thoughts and memories and fears and hopes. She didn't know what it was she wanted Nick to find. She already knew what he'd eventually discover, but she just didn't know if she wanted it confirmed or not.

Nick invited himself inside and offered her a half-smile. "You planning on drinking that coffee or divining the future?" he asked.

She pulled a face. "So did you find anything?"

He leant against the bench beside her. "Well, I drew a blank with all the likely places in Mt. Thomas. Same with St. Davids. I tried the Bushranger Hotel out at Widgeree and the owner didn't recognise the name, but he did identify Damian once I waved a photo in front of his face. He checked in five days ago under the name of Jack Bennett."

She smiled weakly. "A nice, non-descript name to use when you're up to no good," she mused. "Did you get anywhere at the Steam Packet?"

He nodded. "They didn't recognise Damian's name, but they did recognise the alias and the photo. I also had a word or two with Compo and Richo. They weren't too keen to talk at first, but they eventually caved and said that they think it was the man in the photo."

Her smile faded as she turned away. She sat the coffee down and braced herself on the bench of the mess room. The world felt as though it were spinning and she wanted it to slow down. She had been right. She had known she had been right. But to have concrete evidence...

"This doesn't necessarily mean anything," Nick reminded her. "Just because he's been around for a little while..."

"...using a fake name," she pointed out.

He didn't seem to have heard her. "...and fed Compo and Richo the info. Doesn't mean he had anything to do with the killing. In fact, on what we've got, it doesn't mean he had anything to do with it at all."

She stared at him. "If not him, then who?" she asked. "And don't say Bill Lapscott."

He shrugged and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Look, I'm prepared to accept Lapscott had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was one of the lynch mob."

She turned to him and shook her head thoughtfully. "The lynch mob would have been more likely to have just shot him or whacked him over the head and left him there. This is personal. That doesn't exactly leave us with a long list."

Nick sighed, before nodding. "Okay," he finally conceded. "I've got an idea."

* * *

Amy opened the door to the Parlour and knocked quietly. Damian looked up from where he was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, flipping through a copy of the Gazette. He grinned as he tossed the paper down. "Hey, Amez," he said. "Can you believe that load of garbage passes as journalism? You familiar with that Tony Timms' tripe?"

She chuckled in spite of herself. "We've had more than our fair share of run-ins over the years, believe me," she replied. She paused before continuing. "So, um...I gather you've heard about your father..."

Damian looked away as he nodded. "Yeah..." He let his gaze meet hers. "It was a bit hard to not find out."

She nodded. "I suppose so," she admitted. She paused, an awkward silence falling between them. "I suppose you'd also know what he did to me when we were teenagers."

He pressed his lips together and nodded, running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah," he finally answered. "Yeah. Even Brendan couldn't sit on that one." He frowned a little as he looked at her. "I'm sorry for what he did to you. And for Mum. You deserved better."

Amy couldn't help but agree with him. "Yeah, I did." She left her post by the door and sat down opposite him. "So you've been talking to Brendan?"

He nodded. "Yeah, like I said yesterday, we sort of keep in touch. Email, Facebook – for what that technophile can use of it – that sort of thing. He didn't tell me who you married, though, so spill..."

Amy frowned. "I thought he didn't tell you I was married at all."

Damian looked a little taken aback. "Did it sound like I was saying anything different?" he asked. "Because I didn't mean anything different..."

She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out the photo. "Recognise this?"

For half a second, she was sure she saw something flash through his face. But it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. He took the photograph from her and shook his head. "Nup, but may I say, sis, that you make a stunning bride? Man, I wish I could have been there." He held the photo back out to her. "What's with the whole Sherlock Holmes routine, anyway? What have I done?"

"Fed two of the biggest gossips in town my life story, bashed your father, brutally killed him, disfigured his body and willingly let my husband take the blame." Amy replied, rising to her feet. "How's that for starters?"

He shook his head. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, waving his hands, "what the hell..."

"I spoke to Brendan," Amy continued. "He confirmed your story about your falling out and you running away from home. But he's told you more than you've said he has. In fact, he – or, more to the point, Chloe – emailed you a full collection of wedding photos." She waved the photograph at him. "Including this one."

Damian stared at her blankly. Finally, he shrugged. "Okay, okay, I lied," he admitted. "But Amez..."

She sat the photo on the coffee table and folded her arms. "We found that at the crime scene. We can apply for a warrant to get your prints. If we find yours anywhere on it, you're gone."

"This proves nothing!" Damian pleaded. "Nothing!"

She shrugged. "You're not satisfied with that?" she asked. "Fine. John Maguire was assaulted at the Mt. Thomas Motor Inn earlier. Despite sustaining injuries to the front of his head, he insisted that he had not seen his assailant."

He stared at her. "So what?"

"I'd say he was protecting his attacker. About the only person he'd have any reason to want to protect is you."

Damian shook his head. "I only got to town today!" he reminded her. "How could I have done any of this?"

Amy drew in a breath to steady herself. "Except you've been here for five days." At Damian's blank stare, she continued. "You checked into the Bushranger Hotel at Widgeree under the name Jack Bennett five days ago. The owner I.D.'d your photo. You were also identified at the Steampacket Hotel in Mt. Thomas, which is where you so considerately told everybody my life story. Thanks for that, by the way."

He shrugged. "Maybe there's just someone who looks..."

"...just like you, and knows everything about me and has a grudge against your father?" She stared at him. "You were always better at maths than I was, but even I know that the probability of that isn't very good." She sighed as silent tears, a mixture of exhaustion and devastation, filled her eyes. "I just want to know why, Damian. Why would you do all this?"

He stared at her. All the confidence that had been oozing from him earlier had disappeared, leaving this shell of a man. He looked very lost and frightened. Amy could understand why. You hardly got a slap on the wrist for murder.

"Do you...remember when you were fourteen?" he asked. She nodded slowly as she crept a little closer towards him. "You had this, um...geography assignment you didn't get. You wanted me to help you with it. I'd told you I didn't have time and would come and help you when I was ready..."

"You never came." Amy reminded him. "I failed."

He shook his head. "That's...that's not quite right. I did come. I came into your bedroom once, one Sunday afternoon. I was supposed to be at a friend's place, but I'd decided to cancel and help you out instead. I guess Dad had thought everyone was out of the house..." He paused, pressing his lips together desperately. Amy felt terrified, her eyes already beginning to sting as the tears welled up. She had the feeling she knew what came next. "You were in bed...with him. You were both under the blankets..."

Amy turned away, biting her bottom lip so hard she was surprised she hadn't managed to draw blood. She couldn't silence her sobs, or stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. She didn't want to arrest him anymore. She wanted to put her hands around his throat and throttle him to death. He'd known. He'd known all along. It wasn't like Brendan, Brendan she could forgive. No child on earth could have seen what Brendan had seen and possibly guess what had been behind it. She could even understand why he hadn't mentioned it when she had decided to have her uncle charged, after all, no son wants to believe that of their father. But Damian...who could have stopped it...who had known beyond all doubt...

"Amy..." Damian was reaching out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Amez, I'm sorry..."

She flinched so badly she nearly hit the ceiling. "Don't touch me," she grumbled. "Don't you ever touch me again." She glared at him with the mother of all death glares. It was several minutes before she could compose herself sufficiently to speak. "Why the hell didn't you say something at the time?"

"I...I...guess I just...didn't want to believe what I'd seen..." he stammered. "I...I couldn't believe Dad would do something like that..."

She just shook her head. "So you just stayed quiet? Turned a blind eye to everything?" Damian looked away. "Why did...why did you think I left? How could you do that?" She felt her blood begin to boil and she found herself shouting. "How could you just ignore it and let me go through all of that?"

"I didn't know what to do..."

"How about tell your mother?" she suggested with a shrug. "In hindsight, that probably wouldn't have helped, but at that early stage, it might have achieved something. Or talk to a teacher? Or call the cops? You could have stopped it, Damian." She turned away, trying to wipe her tears away.

"You don't think I didn't feel bad?" he pointed out, jumping to his feet. "I realised that must have been why you left..."

She spun back towards him. "I didn't leave. Brendan told you the real reason why I left, so don't pretend you don't know."

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself. "I've never forgiven myself for not saying something. When I found out he was getting out...I just wanted to help. I thought I could get rid of him. I thought...the vigilante mob might be enough to make him go away. When that didn't work...I just lost it. I don't think I've ever been so angry before in my life. I just couldn't stop. He was dead and...I just wanted to make him pay for what he did to you...to all of us."

Her expression became one of horror.

"I just wanted to make things better for you, Amez," he continued, pleading. "I just wanted to make up for letting you down all those years ago. I thought I could help you by just...making him go away."

She stared at him in disbelief. "How was killing him going to make things better?" Before Damian could answer, she continued. "Oh, and here's the kicker. My husband's the one who's copped the blame for this. He's been charged with the murder."

A strange expression passed through Damian's face. "What?"

"Please come forward," she begged. "Homicide...they'll put in a good word for you if you come forward of your own accord. And the judge...they'll go easy on you."

He just shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, looking more stunned than anything else. "Why would I come forward now? I've gotten away with it."

"What?" She tried to shake the surprise from her mind, but it was difficult. After everything that had past, she had imagined – perhaps foolishly – that Damian would come forward on his own. But he seemed more than willing to let PJ cop the blame. "Please don't make me arrest you."

A look of betrayal passed through Damian's face. "You'd put me away just to free your husband?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "No, not just to free my husband. You killed your father. You purposely started a vigilante group, you attacked your father, and then when that wasn't enough, you killed him. And, if that's not enough, you're more than willing to let an innocent man go down for your crime. That is why I would put you away."

He grabbed her arms. "We are family, Amy," he told her. "That's meant to mean something."

She shook her head as she tried to jerk her arms away. "Don't pull this card on me..."

"We took you in! We put a roof over your head, food in your mouth, a roof over your head!"

She slapped him hard as she pulled away. "_That_ is what you think a family is?" she demanded, stunned. "No bloody wonder your wives walked out on you. _That_, Damian, is what you do for a stray dog. Family is supposed to be about something a little bit more substantial than that."

He nodded slowly. "I wouldn't put too much trust in bringing me in," he told her as he backed away. His voice had attained a very different quality, one that made Amy a little uneasy. She could scarcely believe that this was the same man she had grown up with. "It's your husband on the line, you'd probably manufacture evidence against the Prime Minister if you thought it'd help matters."

She felt hot tears welling in her eyes. "D...Damian..."

"You've got no evidence that I ever said anything," he said. "It's your word against mine. The word of an upstanding restaurant owner against the word of a detective who is so personally involved that she can't see straight."

"Not quite."

Damian jumped as a voice came from just outside the Parlour door. It opened to reveal Nick Schultz. He held up a tape recorder. "It's more like your word against the word of two sworn members and an audio cassette."

"That's...that's entrapment," Damian argued, waving a hand at Nick.

Nick shrugged. "In the States, maybe. Here, we call it evidence." He turned to Amy. "You want to do the honours, or shall I?"

Amy turned to him and forced a half-smile. "I'll do it," she offered. She rounded on Damian. "Damian Maguire, you are under arrest for the murder of John Maguire. You are not obliged to say or do anything, but anything you do say may be taken down and given in evidence. Do you understand?"

Damian remained silent for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I understand."

* * *

Olsen hit the stop button on the tape player. He turned to Mark. "This is borderline; you know that, don't you? A decent enough lawyer could have this laughed out of court so fast..."

Mark raised a hand to stop Olsen's tirade. "Damian Maguire has spent the last the last hour and a half in my interview room," he explained. "He has made a full confession to myself and Senior Constable McKinley, explaining his part in the formation of the vigilante group, the assault and the murder. Of course, you'll have to speak to him yourself, but I doubt he'll say anything else to you." He paused. "So this means PJ Hasham is innocent."

Olsen nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose it does," he conceded. "I'll make the necessary calls, have the charges withdrawn. PJ will be back from St. Davids within the hour."

With that, Olsen headed for the interview room, leaving the office door hanging open behind him.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Bloody Homicide," he grumbled.

* * *

Mark was still in his office when PJ walked in, grinning like some Cheshire cat. Mark immediately gasped at the sight of PJ's face. "What happened to you?" he asked.

PJ touched his black eye tentatively. "Some crook decided to take the chance to get his revenge," he explained. Mark opened his mouth to speak, but PJ pre-empted him. "Don't worry about charging him, Boss. It's not worth the time needed to make a statement, trust me. I'd prefer to just forget the last few days never happened."

Mark frowned for a minute before finally nodding. He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out PJ's badge. He stood up as he held it out to him. "Monica Draper sent it back, with her apologies. I don't think she ever thought you were guilty."

PJ couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, I think she finally worked out that I'm not bent," he replied. "It only took her a little while." He took his badge from Mark and stared at it contemplatively. "Didn't think I was going to see this again."

"I knew you were coming back," Mark told him. "With Nick and Amy on the case, you couldn't go wrong."

"Thanks Boss," PJ grinned as he tucked his badge into his pocket and headed back out into the muster room.

Nick, Dash and Ringo were waiting, staring at him. PJ held his arms wide. "What? Nothing to say?"

Dash almost flew at him and enveloped him in a hug. "Oh, it's good to have you back," she declared. "We weren't fancying having to break in another detective."

PJ laughed as he ruffled Dash's hair. "You're a riot, Deidre." As Dash moved away, he clapped Ringo on the shoulder. "Good to see to again, too, mate." Finally, he moved onto Nick, who was leaning against the back wall. "I hear I've got you to thank for my newfound freedom."

"Hardly," Nick replied. At PJ's puzzled stare, he elaborated. "It was all Amy, mate. She came up with all the answers...and copped all the downside when the shit hit the fan."

PJ looked away, nodding thoughtfully as his smile began to fade. "Where is she?"

* * *

_Amy leant back against the CI car, letting the cool June breeze lick at her hair. Jonesy and Joss were driving John over to St. Davids. She was transfixed by the sight. He'd been charged, he'd be remanded in custody in St. Davids until the court case, and the rest of them were left to pick up the pieces. So deep was her distraction that she didn't notice Susie emerge from the station, holding several sheets of paper in her hands. She didn't even bother to look at her until she spoke._

_"He's made a full confession."_

_Amy jolted back to attention as she turned to Susie's sympathetic face. She took the paper from Susie's hands and flipped through them. She didn't really read what had been typed there. She'd already known that John would tell the whole truth now. His shock at what she had told him about the baby had been too profound. He clearly hadn't realised just what his princess had been through. Even though he now knew, Amy didn't think he'd ever understand._

_She knew Susie was still looking at her, watching the distracted face, trying to work out what she was supposed to say. It seemed like an eternity before she finally spoke again. "I think what you did was really brave."_

_Amy looked up. She hadn't thought of going after John as brave and the suggestion seemed almost amusing. "Brave," she repeated, looking away from Susie again. _

_"Facing up to him," Susie added._

_Sighing, Amy turned back to her. Susie was still looking at her with that sympathetic, kind expression that seemed to almost expect Amy to confide in her. And, almost to her surprise, Amy found herself confiding in her. "I thought everything would change when I confronted him, that I'd change."_

_This time it was Susie's turn to look away. Susie was doing her best to understand, Amy would give her that. When Susie looked back, she shrugged a little. "Nothing's going to change right away."_

_Amy almost found herself smiling. "Maybe nothing will change at all," she said dismally, turning once again to stare down the street that Jonesy and Joss had driven down, with John sitting silently in the back seat. "Maybe this is as good as it gets." With that, she slipped away, lowering her head as she headed back inside the station, her grasp tightening slightly on the confession that Susie had given her._

Standing outside the station, leaning back against the bonnet of her ute, Amy found her mind drifting involuntarily back to what she had told Susie all those years ago. She knew now that she had been wrong. Almost as soon as she had written life off as having given her all it could, things had begun to improve. She had found things in life she had never thought she would ever achieve, things like a loving husband and the best friends she could have ever asked for. She wished Susie was still alive to tell her that she had been right – time and action could change everything, even the parts of herself she had thought were set in stone.

She had become so lost in her own reflections that she didn't hear the footsteps, or realise that someone was there until they spoke. "Amy."

She looked up to him, her eyes becoming wide as PJ grinned. "Peej," she whispered. He approached her and leant back against the car beside her. She frowned as she noticed his black eye. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," he reassured her, waving it off. "Just some smartarse deciding to take advantage of the fact that I was on their turf. It's not even worth reporting." He sighed, reaching out to take her hand in his. "Nick told me that how hard you worked to get me out of there. Thank you. I...I don't know if I deserve it after what I wrote..."

Amy turned to him and shook her head. "I know why you said it," she told him quietly. "I don't hate you for it either. I mean...I did at the time, but...if our roles had been reversed, you'd have probably gotten a similar letter from me."

He smiled weakly. It faded as he noticed the tear stains on her cheeks. He reached out to wipe them away. "I'm sorry you had to do that. It...can't have been easy."

"He killed his father," Amy replied simply. "I'm a copper. I couldn't let him get away with that."

"He's your cousin," PJ reminded her.

She nodded slowly. Bill's words came back to her sharply, about confiding in PJ. "He knew."

PJ frowned. "What? About the abuse?"

Amy nodded. "He walked in one time when I was fourteen. He saw it. Not like Brendan did...Damian actually saw..." she trailed off, the sobs returning. "I just...can't understand how he could have stayed silent. Even if he hadn't reported it, even if he'd just talked to me about it at the time...it would have made such a difference, just to know I had someone – anyone – in my corner."

PJ closed his hands around hers. "You aren't alone now."

She smiled. "I know." She paused thoughtfully. "I can fight my own battles and make my own decisions, but...just knowing you're there...always at my side, at my back, ready to catch me and pick me up if I fall...it means the world to me." She found herself laughing as she saw PJ smiling. "Damian...said something about us being family, but he doesn't even know what the word means." Her smile faded. "I suppose I'm just one of those people who never gets to be part of a family."

He shook his head as he squeezed her hands tighter. "Nah," he replied. "There's more than one type of family. Me, Chris, all of our colleagues in there...we're your family."

Amy grinned. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him, tenderly and long.

* * *

As the officers trudged into the Imperial, Chris noticed that two of their number were missing. "Amy and PJ not coming?" she asked.

Mark shook his head. "They decided to give the pub a miss tonight," he explained. "Understandable enough, given the circumstances." Chris nodded and didn't say anything more on the subject.

Nick flopped down at their usual table. "So, when's this new Probationary Constable starting?" he asked.

Dash's interest was piqued. "What? We're getting a newbie? Since when?"

Mark forced a smile. "Well, that's actually something of a sore point," he began. Dash and Nick looked confused. Ringo just looked curious, almost intensely so. "Martin Barnes called earlier. Apparently he's decided not to send us one of his Probationary Constables after all."

Nick frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't know," Mark replied. "In any case, our little team won't be getting any new additions in the near future."

Ringo felt his heart lurch heavily. He couldn't believe that it was solely Martin Barnes' decision – Emma must have made a plea of some description. She didn't want him. Everything he had felt for her had been completely one-sided.

Seeing Ringo's downcast expression, Dash leant over to whisper in his ear. "Hey? What's up? You look like the sky's caved in."

Ringo looked at her for a moment before he found himself whispering back. "I slept with her."

Dash pulled a face. "With who? That Probationary Constable?"

He nodded. "But she was already in a relationship, and her boyfriend showed up in town. I thought it was the real deal, but she just thought I was old-fashioned and ordinary."

She pulled away a little, glancing to Mark and Nick to make sure they hadn't heard. They hadn't. They had been far too busy talking to Chris, filling her in on the tale of the Probationary Constable who never was. She turned back to Ringo. "Are you sure that this isn't more of a guy-guy kind of conversation?" she asked. As Ringo looked more crest-fallen, she rubbed his arm. "Hey, cheer up. You're far from ordinary. And the old-fashioned thing's kind of cute in a guy. You'll find someone who appreciates you one day. Trust me."

Ringo nodded as he sat back. He caught Chris' gaze briefly and noticed that she was smiling at him reassuringly. She knew precisely what had happened, typical Chris Riley. He returned her smile and nodded slightly. A secret acknowledgement that what had passed was to stay silent.

It was time to shake it off. Sighing, he climbed to his feet. "Anyone for darts?"

* * *

Next episode... "We All Fall Down"

Dash and Adam's worst nightmares become a reality when their young daughter is abducted. As tension continues to mount among the Heelers, more than one relationship will be pushed to breaking point and beyond.


	10. Ep 30: We All Fall Down

Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. 2010 as a year wasn't very conducive to fanfiction writing and I've only recently gotten a little bit of time to get something written.

**Episode 30: "We All Fall Down"**

_Summary: Dash and Adam's worst nightmares become a reality when their young daughter is abducted. As tension continues to mount among the Heelers, more than one relationship will be pushed to breaking point and beyond._

"Oh, God," Dash mumbled, running her hands through her hair as she looked at the chaos of the public bar around her. "Remind me why we're getting engaged in a pub again?"

PJ pulled a face where he was standing near the doorway, hanging streamers. He turned to her. "Now look, Dash. I like you and all, but I'm already taken."

Dash let out a howl of frustration and, grabbing the towel from the bar, threw it at PJ. He ducked and the towel hit Chris in the face as she walked in the door.

"For heaven's sake!" she exclaimed, scrunching the towel into a ball in her hand as she shook her head at PJ and Dash. "I don't know why I put up with this. I've closed my bar for you lot and the second I leave you alone, you start throwing things!"

PJ gave her a peck on the cheek. "But you love us, Chrissie," he teased.

She just glared at him as she headed back behind the bar.

* * *

"Daddy!" Phoebe tore down the hallway and threw herself onto Adam. He gave her a hug.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, kissing her cheek. "How was your day?"

She pulled back and grinned. "Good." She held up a painting. "I did this."

Adam took it from her and studied it. It was a simple landscape crowded with people. It was still fairly easy to tell which one was which – Dash, Adam, Charlie, Macca, Kirsty...and Phoebe herself, of course. Phoebe still felt compelled to point to each one in turn and tell him who they were. He ruffled her silky hair. "It's a masterpiece, Pheebs."

She seemed very proud at this. She bounded back down the hallway to gather her things together. Charlie passed her grinned brightly at the sight. The smile faded a little as he noticed Adam. "Adam."

"Charlie," Adam replied, nodding. The animosity was clear enough. "So what happened today?"

Charlie sighed. "Oh, you know. Phoebe lost bunny, Phoebe found bunny. Phoebe dropped bunny in the horses' trough, so now bunny is hanging out on the line. She was in a foul temper, until I promised she could paint."

"She didn't have any trouble with her asthma?" Adam asked. "It's been playing up a little bit lately."

He shook his head, just as Phoebe reappeared, her bag on her back. He ruffled her hair playfully. "Nah, we had no problems today, did we Pheebs?"

"Nup!" she declared, grinning broadly. She grabbed Adam's leg. "Can we go? I wanna see Mummy!"

Adam nodded as he grabbed Phoebe's hand. "Of course we can, sweetie."

* * *

The Imperial was oddly silent when Adam and Phoebe arrived. The public bar had been so intricately decorated, with streamers and flowers. It was almost unbelievable. The other officers, along with Zoe and Chris, were waiting there.

Adam remained puzzled. "Dash?"

She stepped forward, looking very nervous yet excited at the same time. "You're probably wondering what the hell's going on."

He laughed. "That's an understatement."

She grabbed his hands and wrapped them in hers. Phoebe remained underfoot, looking up with intense interest. Dash found herself grinning. "Adam...I love you. I love our little family..."

Realisation crept across Adam's face. "Dash, are you..."

"I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?" she asked. Dash suddenly dropped onto one knee and pulled something out of her pocket. She opened it to reveal a silver watch. "Adam Bryce Cooper, will you marry me?"

He stared at it for a moment, stunned into silence. Finally, he nodded. "Yes." He wrapped his arms around Dash, pulling her back up to standing as he twirled her around. "Yes, of course I'll marry you!"

As soon as her feet were safely back on the ground, Dash slipped the watch onto Adam's wrist. Then they kissed, long and tenderly. Tears of joy were slipping down Dash's cheeks.

She felt Phoebe tugging at her pants leg. "Mummy? Mummy, don't cry. Why are you crying?"

Dash laughed as she pulled Phoebe up into her arms and buried her face in her daughter's cheek. "I'm just happy, kitten. I'm just so happy."

* * *

Nick was beginning to sweat when he paused by the gates to the cemetery. Why had he come jogging out this way again? He couldn't remember; something just kept drawing him out here, even though he knew it hurt to even contemplate those two little grave stones. It was like a scab he just couldn't stop picking at, no matter how much he told himself to stop.

He passed his hands over his eyes. He had to get ready for work.

* * *

Zoe awoke with a start. It was the nightmare again. It was always the same, trying to reach for her son but knowing she'd never be able to save him; the water feeling as though it was burning her own lungs with every breath. The nightmares were getting further apart – counselling and time were surely helping there – but they still had the power to terrify all the same.

She reached out for Nick, only for her hand to hit empty space and go right onto the sheets and blankets. She sat up, her expression becoming angry as she realised that he wasn't there. Again.

Nick was coming through the front door, his t-shirt covered in sweat as Zoe padded out into the kitchen. She couldn't help glaring at him. "Where were you?"

"Jogging," he replied simply as he brushed sweat from his forehead.

She stared at him doubtfully. "Jogging? You never jog."

He just shrugged and headed off down the hallway, pulling off his old t-shirt as he went.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Shower," he replied simply. "I've got to get ready for work."

As Nick disappeared into the bathroom, Zoe felt her blood beginning to boil. Why didn't he listen?

* * *

Dash yawned as she brushed strands of hair back from her eyes and pulled her silk dressing gown around her body. She found Adam in the back yard with Phoebe; he was sipping on a coffee while Phoebe was painting using her easel.

She sat across his lap. "Good morning."

Adam grinned. "Hello, beautiful fiancée." He kissed her as he wrapped his arms around her. "That was a horrible trick you pulled last night."

She laughed. "Oh, how else was I meant to get you somewhere where I could get you to accept a proposal?" she asked.

He just shook his head as he kissed her again. "I'll go make you some breakie, okay?"

She nodded. "Sure, I'll just duck into the shower." As she slipped off his lap, she kissed his cheek. She ruffled Phoebe's hair as she passed her.

She found herself yawning again. Yes, it had probably been the best night of her life. But it had been a late one.

* * *

Amy sat at the kitchen bench, sipping at her coffee as she leafed through the Gazette. She'd already finished her toast – the plate was sitting to one side of the paper – and she was completing her daily early morning ritual while she waited for PJ to wake up. Between the alcohol and the late night, he was sleeping in.

The phone rang, snapping her from her reverie. She pounced on it, trying to silence it before it could wake PJ. "Hello, Amy Fox speaking."

"Hi Amy, it's Nick." As Nick paused, Amy found herself swapping the phone to her other ear and her expression growing concerned. Nick's voice sounded...well, she couldn't put her finger on it. Different, she supposed. There was something wrong, she knew that much, at least. "We need you and PJ on deck at work."

She felt herself frowning. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

Nick hesitated. His silence was deafening. Finally, he replied. "Dash called. Phoebe McKinley's gone missing."

* * *

Amy studied the backyard thoughtfully as she stood on the verandah. She was stirred from her reverie as PJ emerged from the house, sighing heavily as he clasped his blue folder to her chest.

She turned to him. "How are Dash and Adam?"

"About what you'd expect," he replied. He shook his head as his frown deepened. "The Boss is trying to calm them down, try to see if he can get them to a state where they might be able to answer some questions."

She began biting her bottom lip absentmindedly. "Have either of them said anything at all useful?"

PJ shook his head. "Dash is distraught...she keeps snapping at Adam, I think she blames him for whatever's happened."

Amy nodded, considering PJ's words. "And Adam?"

"He hasn't said a word." PJ answered. He set his folder down on the nearby chair and headed out into the yard. Amy watched him, eyes narrowed and arms crossed against her chest. He turned to face the side gate. "I can't see how Phoebe could have gotten out of here on her own."

Amy joined him, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat as she contemplated the gate. It went nearly all the way down to the grass and was nearly so high that she could only just peer over it. PJ pulled it open and stepped back, letting it swing shut on its own.

She just shook her head. "She couldn't have gone under that gate, and there's no way she could have gone over it."

"It's a security gate," PJ mused. "Adam or Dash couldn't have just managed to leave it open."

Amy frowned. "Is there any chance Phoebe got it open of her own accord? She's a pretty bright kid."

PJ shook his head. "Doubt it," he replied. "The latch is too close to the top; unless Phoebe knows how to use a ladder, she couldn't have even managed to reach it. It's more likely someone reached over the top and opened it from the outside."

She drew in a deep breath as she turned to him. "This means we're looking at an abduction, doesn't it?"

PJ's look of apprehension and dread matched hers. "Yeah, I'd say it does."

They turned as they heard the screen door open. Mark was standing there, pulling his old brown jacket around his shoulders to try to defeat the cool breeze. "They might be ready for some questions now."

Mark led Amy and PJ back inside. Dash was sitting on the couch, her hands cupped around an old violet coloured mug, not so much drinking the tea inside as staring at it blindly. Adam was leaning against one of the walls, his face buried in his hands.

Amy and PJ shared an uneasy look before PJ nodded towards Dash. Amy sat down gently beside her. Dash turned to look at her and sat the tea down on the coffee table as she ran her hand back through her hair. Amy couldn't help but notice that her hand was trembling. Badly.

"Dash, I know this is probably the last thing you need right now, but we're going to need to ask you guys some questions, okay?"

Dash nodded slowly. She turned to look at Adam. He had lowered his hands to his pockets and was now pacing for want of anything else to do. She sighed as she cast her gaze to Mark to PJ briefly before looking back to Amy. "Okay," she replied weakly.

"What happened?" Amy asked.

For a moment, Dash just stared at Amy blankly. It seemed to take a little while for the question to sink in. Finally, she began to speak in a voice that certainly didn't sound like Dash McKinley's. "Um...I woke up and...Adam was already up. He offered to make breakfast while I had a shower. Phoebe was painting with the easel Charlie gave her for her birthday." Dash choked up a little, but she managed to keep herself together.

"Do you have any idea what time this was?" she asked.

Again, Dash stared blankly. "Time? I don't know..."

Amy nodded. "Approximately is fine."

Dash frowned. She tried to remember if she'd looked at her alarm clock when she'd woken up that morning. Her memory failed her. Instead, she turned to Adam. "Adam? Do you know?"

He stopped pacing and looked at her for a moment before turning to Amy. He frowned. "It might have been just after 8:30 when I went into the kitchen," he replied. His voice was quiet. "I think the clock is about ten minutes slow, though..."

"So about 8:40-ish?" Amy clarified, while PJ scribbled something in his folder. Adam nodded as he sat down and buried his head again. "When did either of you last see Phoebe?"

"Just before I went to have a shower," Dash replied. She began wringing her hands in her lap. She turned on Adam. She looked like she was about to say something, but Mark cleared his throat and she instead remained silent.

Amy looked to Adam. "Adam?" she prompted.

Adam lowered his hands. He frowned for a moment. "She came into the kitchen to show me her painting. She went back outside again...I could hear her singing for a couple of minutes..." He trailed off momentarily and his eyes seemed to become distant. "The phone rang, so I had to leave the kitchen to answer it. Dash noticed Phoebe was missing when she got out of the shower."

Amy turned to PJ and Mark, their gazes meeting. PJ scribbled something down.

She returned to Adam. "Who was on the phone?"

He looked at her in confusion. "The phone?"

Amy nodded. "The phone call you answered?"

He just shook his head. "No one. They hung up as soon as I answered."

"Wh...what are you getting at?" Dash asked.

Amy hesitated. She cast a wary glance to Mark and PJ before she replied. "We're just trying to gather any relevant information so we can work out what happened here, Dash, that's all."

Dash didn't seem convinced, but she nodded anyway as she curled up into a ball with her knees close to her chest. She was beginning to look very scared.

There was a long silence before Amy could bring herself to ask the next question. "Can either of you think of anyone who might want to..."

Dash cut her off. "You think someone's taken her?" Her voice was bordering on hysteria as the tears began to slide down her cheeks anew. As Amy, Mark and PJ shared a worried look, she began to panic even more. "Oh no...oh my God..." Adam was on his feet again and he was wandering away from the gathering to brace himself against the nearby kitchen bench.

"We don't know what's happened yet, Dash," Amy replied, hoping desperately that Dash didn't pick up on the fact that she didn't believe a word of what she was saying. "We're just trying to cover all the possibilities. We're not jumping to any conclusions just yet. It's just a routine question."

Now Dash looked really sceptical, but she went along with it anyway. "I can't think of anyone off the top of my head," she answered, her head shaking as she spoke.

PJ closed his folder and held it to his chest as he headed over to Adam. "What about you, mate?" he asked, with a weak attempt as a sympathetic smile. "Can you think of anyone?"

Adam frowned, before he shook his head. "No one who isn't dead or locked up somewhere."

PJ nodded, patted his shoulder supportively and headed back to Mark. "I don't know if we're going to get much more here," he whispered.

Mark considered Adam and Dash thoughtfully. Dash was ready to dissolve into tears and Amy was doing her best to reassure her. "Yeah, I think they've had enough."

* * *

Amy wished she didn't feel so useless. She slammed the locked door shut, but it bounced back from the force. She began to take her frustration out on it as she tried slamming it shut again.

PJ knocked on the door to the mess room as he entered, a bemused expression on his face. "You trying to assault the furniture?" he asked. Amy simply shrugged as she perched herself on the window frame. She watched as PJ closed the locker. "See," he teased. "That's not so hard, is it?" Amy smiled, but it lasted less than half a second before vanishing again. He joined her at the window. "What's wrong?"

"It's just..." she paused, biting her lip as she shook her head. "What was I thinking, saying some of that crap to Dash and Adam? 'We're trying to gather any relevant information'...'we're trying to cover all possibilities'...'it's just a routine question'...Did I really use that line on Dash?"

PJ took her hand and squeezed it. "You did a great job," he reassured her. "Nobody's trained for that situation, you can't possibly be."

"Peej, I told them every cliché we're trained to tell people. Honestly, if someone I loved was missing and one of my colleagues was sitting there saying all those lines, I'd probably deck them."

He looked away. "Yeah, I guess I probably would have used up a substantial amount of restraint in that situation too," he conceded.

"I feel useless...helpless," she whispered. "I don't like feeling this way."

PJ nodded understandingly. He went to speak, but Mark entered the room before he got the chance. Noticing the expressions on their faces, he faltered. "Are you okay?"

Amy nodded quickly as she brushed hair back from her face. "Yeah, yeah, I'm...I'm fine."

Mark seemed unconvinced, but accepted her response anyway. "When you two are finished, I want a word in my office."

As Mark left, PJ turned to Amy. "Just take a deep breath and count to ten. You're doing okay."

* * *

Mark turned around in his chair to face PJ and Amy as they entered. "I've got Nick and Ringo out on patrol; they're starting from Dash and Adam's and working out."

"Are there uniforms on the way from St. Davids?" PJ asked.

Mark nodded. "They should get here sometime within the hour. Charlie McKinley is with Dash and Adam." As Amy and PJ nodded, Mark paused. It was a moment before he spoke again. "You're thinking abduction, aren't you?"

Amy and PJ shared an uneasy glance. It was Amy who spoke first. "Phoebe McKinley couldn't have gotten out through that house without Adam having seen her. There's no way she went through that fence on her own. I really don't see how it could be anything except abduction."

PJ nodded glumly. "That phone call Adam received is suspicious. The fact that there was no one on the other end of the phone suggests that it might have been the kidnapper trying to distract Adam long enough to..." He trailed off. It was clear Mark got the picture.

Mark passed a hand over his eyes before folding his arms across his chest. "So I suppose you two want the phone records?" PJ nodded. "I'll get onto it." Mark hesitated. "Do we have any idea of who might be responsible for this?"

"We need to go through Dash's daybooks," Amy explained. "If she's had any trouble with a suspect lately, she might have made a note of it."

"I'll take care of that," Mark volunteered.

PJ looked to Amy. "We're going to need to talk to Dash and Adam again and let them know what we think is going on." He could see the expression on Amy's face. It was pained. "Dash is a cop. Adam was a cop. If someone's abducted their daughter, they could very well know who."

* * *

Dash pressed her hand against her mouth. She could feel herself trembling. This wasn't happening. There was no way this was happening. "You think...someone took Phoebe because...because..."

"It's just a theory," PJ reassured her quickly. "We don't know anything yet."

"You don't know anything?" Charlie demanded from where he sat next to her. "A little girl can't just disappear into thin air! There must be something!"

"We're getting the phone records to see whether or not the call Adam received is connected," Amy explained, nodding over to where Adam stood by the door. He was staring out through the screen, but it was clear he wasn't watching Forensics as they picked the yard apart. His gaze was fixed on Phoebe's easel. "And Forensics are looking for evidence in the backyard that might point to what happened."

Charlie just shook his head. His hands were trembling with frustration. It was clear that he was feeling helpless. "This is just so absurd..."

PJ pulled up a stool from the kitchen bench and sat down across from Dash while Amy moved in behind. "We need to know if you can think of anyone at all who might have wanted to abduct Phoebe."

She stared at him for a moment. Finally, she shook her head. "No one...at least no one who isn't in prison or dead." She looked to Adam. "What about you?" Adam didn't respond. He was too lost in his own world. "Adam!"

Adam seemed to jolt back to reality. "What?"

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to go after Phoebe?" Dash asked. Her voice was terse and there was a flash of anger in her eyes.

It took him a moment to respond. "No."

* * *

Mark looked up at the sound of a door closing and voices approaching. As Amy and PJ appeared in their office, he headed over to meet them. He offered them a couple of sheets of paper. "These are the phone records for the last two days. They came through just before you got back."

"Thanks," Amy said as she took it from him. She sat down and began to read through the list of numbers.

Mark turned to PJ, who was hanging his jacket over the back of his swivel chair. "Did Dash or Adam have anything to offer?"

PJ shook his head. "They both say that they can't think of anyone who'd want to abduct their daughter. At least anyone who isn't in prison or dead, to use Dash's words. Whether or not they're thinking straight enough to give us an accurate answer is a different question. They aren't coping."

Mark sighed. "If this doesn't go well, they might never think straight again," he reminded PJ. After a few moments of sullen silence, Mark spoke again. "I've checked Dash's daybooks. There's no obvious indications of anyone who might have made threats against her or be otherwise inclined to take revenge. That doesn't necessarily mean anything. Her daybooks are a bit of a mess."

"Dash has never exactly been much of a paperwork person," PJ acknowledged.

Amy piped up. "I've found the phone call." PJ and Mark came round to look over her shoulder. "It's a mobile phone number."

"Track down that number," Mark said. "We need to know who that number belongs to and what tower it was logged on to."

She nodded. "Onto it."

* * *

When Nick and Ringo returned to the station, it was a hive of activity. Officers were milling around. A couple were using the station desktops, some were on mobiles. Others were huddled over files or checking their equipment.

Mark was standing in the doorway of his office, speaking to two of the officers who had arrived during their absence. Ringo and Nick approached him once they left.

"So Marty Barnes came good with backup this time?" Nick asked, eyebrows raised. "Funny how we couldn't get anything last time when we needed it."

Mark just shot him a look. He wasn't overly fond of Martin Barnes and he sure as hell didn't trust him – he supposed a series of less than benevolent inspectors had ingrained that instinct in him – but he got the feeling that he could understand Martin. Or, at least, he could work with him. "The police force tends to look after its own, you know that," he reminded Nick. "There were extenuating circumstances last time."

Nick didn't seem convinced, but he didn't argue. Instead, he changed the topic. "Do we have any leads at all?"

Mark shook his head. "Not much. Amy's checking out a phone call that Adam received about the same time Phoebe went missing. Forensics are still picking the yard apart. I'm getting the officers from St. Davids to set up road blocks on the main roads."

"So it's a kidnapping?" Ringo asked, his voice sounding uncertain. Looking at his young charge, Mark got the distinct impression that Ringo was feeling very much out of his depth.

"Looks like it," Mark replied. "Unfortunately there's no obvious indications of who might be responsible."

Nick nodded grimly. He could feel the chill inside him. There were feelings he couldn't define, couldn't hold in one place long enough to work out what they were. Feelings he, quite frankly, didn't want to know anything about.

"So what do you want us to do?" he finally asked.

Mark thought silently for a moment. "I want you to head out to the road block on the highway," he eventually decided. "I need a couple of decent officers out there staying on top of things."

Nick and Ringo nodded and obediently headed back out. Sighing as he passed a hand over his eyes, Mark headed across to the CI office. Amy met him half way.

"What have you got?" Mark asked hopefully.

"The mobile's registered to Tony Timms," she replied as she led Mark back into the CI office. Mark shut the door behind him as Amy continued. "It was logged onto a mobile tower that takes in the area around Dash and Adam's house."

PJ leaned back in his chair as he intertwined his fingers behind his head. "It's pretty safe to say Timmsy isn't responsible," he mused. "Unless Tony has taken to literally creating his own stories. I'd say it's more likely he got drunk at one of our fine drinking holes and someone managed to knock it off."

Mark nodded thoughtfully in response to PJ's words. "You're probably right. That said, we're going to have to talk to him anyway." He turned to Amy. "So whoever made that call was probably in the vicinity of the house?"

She nodded. "I'd bet that they were right out the front."

PJ sat forward as he leant against his desk. "Call the number. See if they've still got the phone."

Amy grabbed the receiver from its cradle and dialled the number. She waited. It seemed like an eternity. Finally, she put the receiver back. "Switched off or out of range."

"That could mean a thousand things," Mark sighed as he folded his arms. "Switched off, out of range, in a million pieces..."

PJ was on his feet and grabbing his jacket. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need Tony Timms."

* * *

PJ knocked on the door loudly. "Get up, Tony!"

Amy pulled her coat tighter around her and stuffed her gloved hands in her pockets. "Maybe he's in bed with Lee Cruikshank?" she suggested.

"Don't give me that mental image," he replied. He began pounding on the door again. "Timmsy, you can open the door, or watch me break it down. Either way, we're coming in."

There was a moments silence before Tony's voice sounded from inside. "Alright, alright, I'm coming." He opened the door. "What do you two want?"

"You just get out of bed did you?" Amy asked, casting narrowed eyes over Tony's crumpled and dishevelled clothes. It looked like he'd fallen into bed wearing yesterday's suit.

Tony looked a little insulted. "I had...slightly too much to drink last night."

"Where were you drinking?" PJ asked as he pushed Tony inside his house. Amy pulled the door shut gently behind her.

He looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Where were you drinking last night? The Imperial, the Commercial, the Steampacket..." Amy said.

"The Commercial," Tony replied. "Chrissie barred me from the Imperial until the end of the month after I wrote that story about..."

PJ and Amy didn't stop to listen. "Where's your mobile?" PJ asked him.

Tony began patting his pockets. He began to frown. "I must have left it on the bar at the pub." He looked at them, suspicion beginning to grow in his eyes. "Someone's knocked it off and used it for something illegal, haven't they?"

"You could say that," PJ mumbled quickly under his breath.

"Was there anyone around that you noticed in particular?" Amy asked. "Anyone that stuck you as particularly dodgy?"

Tony thought on her question for a moment before shaking his head. "There weren't many people in the pub last night. There were a couple of guys playing darts in the far corner...Oh!"

PJ rolled his eyes. "'Oh' what?"

"There was a girl at the bar...well, I suppose she wasn't really a girl, she probably wasn't too much younger than you are." Tony nodded at Amy.

"What did she look like?" Amy asked.

Tony didn't seem to have heard her. "She seemed like a nice enough girl. We chatted for a while..."

"What did she look like?" Amy asked again, her voice becoming louder and impatient.

Tony shrugged. "She had curly brown hair..." He hesitated.

PJ folded his arms. "Oh, come on, Tony, you've got to have more than that."

"She was short, I guess. She certainly wasn't as tall as you are." He again nodded at Amy. "I really don't remember much else about her. My memory...ah..."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, this is the point where the alcohol fuzzes up your memory too much?"

Tony nodded. As Amy and PJ turned to leave, he pounced on them. "So what is this crime my mobile's been involved in, anyway?"

PJ just raised an eyebrow. "Do you honestly think we are going to tell you anything?"

* * *

Mark just rolled his eyes. "Curly brown hair and shorter than Amy. That could be at least a quarter of the female population."

Amy and PJ followed Mark back into his office. "That's assuming Timmsy's memory is even remotely accurate," PJ added. "I'd say he was very drunk last night."

"We could run the description past Dash and Adam," Amy suggested. "It might give us something to go on."

Mark shook his head. "I'd rather not just yet," he mused. "If there is someone suspicious in town drinking in the pubs, Chris Riley might be a better first port of call as opposed to getting Dash and Adam's hopes up with a very vague piece of information that may be utterly irrelevant."

Amy nodded thoughtfully. She and PJ went to leave when a uniform from St. Davids burst in.

"Dash and Charlie McKinley are at reception, Sir."

* * *

PJ offered Dash a cup of tea and Charlie a cup of coffee as he sat down opposite them. Amy and Mark were already seated and looking over a folded piece of paper enclosed in an evidence bag. He read it aloud as he let it and its ramifications roll around through his brain. "'You killed the person who I loved the most and now I have the person who you love the most.'"

"I was just going to go out for a walk, to get some fresh air," Dash explained, "and I found it stuffed under the front door. No one's touched it."

"That's good," Amy told her, offering her a weak smile. "We might be able to get some prints off it."

Charlie looked genuinely confused and worried. "What does this mean?" he asked. "Is this a good sign, a bad sign..."

PJ, Amy and Mark remained silent. In the end, Dash spoke first in a voice that didn't quite sound like it belonged to her. "This confirms that she's been kidnapped by someone who wants to get at one of us," she explained.

* * *

Chris pushed her chair away from the computer and peered over the frames of her reading glasses as she heard the door of the pub open and close. At the sight of Amy and PJ being heading for her office she just rolled her eyes. "Alright, which dirty rotten crime are you lot going to pick my brains over this time?"

"Phoebe McKinley's been abducted," PJ told her.

At this, Chris's jaw dropped open and any hint of a smile vanished from her face. "Oh...tell me what I can do."

"At this stage, it looks like whoever abducted Phoebe did so to get back at Dash or Adam and probably stole Tony Timms' mobile phone from the Commercial last night," Amy explained.

Chris nodded thoughtfully. "Tony came in at about six...I reminded him that he was barred and told him rather colourfully that he could shove off. I suppose he must have ended up at the Commercial." She looked away momentarily before something came over her very suddenly. "I might have an idea on who could have been responsible for the abduction."

PJ and Amy looked at each other, eyebrows raised. "Go on," Amy prompted.

"It would have been six nights ago. Stacy Norse came into the pub..."

Amy waved a hand to silence Chris. "I'm sorry...who?"

PJ passed a hand across his eyes as realisation struck. He felt like a fool for not thinking of it sooner. "Adam's ex-wife," he explained. "He married her about thirteen years ago when she said she was pregnant."

Chris nodded. "Except then she lost the baby, it became clear that it wasn't Adam's and then she arranged with her lover to have Adam killed so they could live off his life insurance. Their plan went completely awry: Adam survived and the lover was killed by Adam in self-defence."

Amy began biting her lip absentmindedly as she took PJ and Chris' contributions in. "Go on."

"Anyway," Chris continued, "Stacy Norse came into my pub. She said she'd inherited the farm and just wanted to see if she could make a fresh start of life in Mt. Thomas. I told her that if she wanted to drink, she could do it in a different establishment and that if she wanted a fresh start, she was far better off choosing a different location and the further away from Mt. Thomas, the better."

"She left?" PJ asked.

Chris nodded. "She didn't argue with me, I didn't even see her again after that. To be honest, I didn't really think much about it. And before you ask, no, I have absolutely no idea where she went after that. I'd hoped she'd gotten on the first bus back to Melbourne.

"Does she fit the description?" Amy asked PJ quietly?

He nodded slowly. "Curly hair, shorter than you. Fits perfectly."

* * *

Mark couldn't help a half-grin as PJ related Chris' story to him. "I knew Chris would come through with something."

Amy knocked on the door, but didn't wait for an invitation before entering. She held out the LEAP reports for the others. "Stacy Norse, thirty-one years old. She was released from prison for the conspiracy to murder charges a few years back, helped along by good behaviour. Aside from a minor traffic offence about eighteen months back in Carlton, she's apparently lived an exemplary life since." She sat down in one of the chairs opposite Mark's desk. "Her description's been circulated and there's a keep a lookout for out on her."

"She'll probably be out at the Norse farm," PJ offered. "Chris said that Stacy claimed that was why she was back."

Mark nodded. He grabbed the phone from his desk and began to dial. "I'll put through a request for a warrant. You ought to search the farm while you're out there."

* * *

As Dash made her way through the station, she was struck by how busy it was. She'd seen it when she'd been in before with Charlie but...somehow, she'd failed to actually notice it. So many people, names and faces she'd never seen or heard of before who were working so hard to find her daughter.

Mark suddenly appeared in her line of sight. "Dash?" he asked, his expression one of concern mixed in with confusion. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at home with Adam and Charlie?"

"I want to be here...I need to be here," she explained. "I'm going to snap if I have to stay there anymore."

Mark nodded in understanding as he walked her back to his office. "So where are Adam and Charlie?"

"Charlie's gone back out to the farm," Dash explained. "He had animals to feed, Macca and Kirsty to look after, all this stuff to do...I told him to go."

"And Adam?"

Dash hesitated. She closed her eyes for a moment before looking back to Mark again. "We fought. He's still at the house, I think."

Mark wanted to ask her more, to try to find some way to sympathising with her, but Dash's tone said it all. She was not going to discuss Adam Cooper with him at all.

Dash picked up a piece of paper from Mark's desk and began to read. "Stacy Norse?" she enquired.

Mark nodded as he began to explain.

* * *

"I don't understand what's going on," Stacy Norse protested as Amy led past the charge counter and down the corridor towards the interview room. "I haven't done anything!"

As PJ closed the door to the back entrance behind him, he thought he could hear two voices arguing. Suddenly, Dash appeared. She stared at Stacy, looking her up and down for a moment. Without warning, she sprung on her, seeming almost out of control. "Where is she? Where is she? Give me back my daughter!" Amy tried to pull Stacy away, while Mark appeared from the muster room to pull Dash back. Amy quickly steered Stacy into the interview room.

Dash drew in deep breaths to steady herself as Mark finally let her go. PJ approached her. "We turned the farm over. There was no sign."

"I want to be in that interview," Dash told him firmly.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Mark warned her.

PJ simply shook his head. "No chance in hell."

"Why not?"

"Well, you probably would have ripped her head off just then if Amy and the Boss here hadn't intervened," PJ explained. "You being anywhere near that interview would be the worst possible thing for Phoebe."

* * *

Stacy and Amy were already sitting down opposite each other when PJ entered the interview room. Stacy looked to him in confusion as he sat down. "What the hell is going on here?" she demanded. "You two practically break my door down, trash the farm...now Dash what's-her-name is trying to strangle me and screaming something about her daughter..."

They didn't reply to Stacy's questions. Instead, Amy pressed the 'record' button on the large tape recording unit. "Tape recorded interview between Senior Detective Fox, Senior Detective Hasham and Stacy Norse commenced at 10:35 am at Mt. Thomas Police Station."

"Why did you come back to Mt. Thomas, Stacy?" PJ asked, leaning forward.

Stacy sighed. "Dad and my brother had both died which meant the farm was mine. I'd always been able to find work in the city, but it had always been very low paying, tedious kind of work and it always dried up very quickly. I suppose that's what happens when you've got a criminal record and no real experience. I kind of figured trying to make a go at the farm was a slightly more viable prospect."

"You didn't know Adam Cooper was here?" Amy asked.

She just shook her head. "No. To be honest, I haven't seen Adam Cooper since he gave evidence against me. I didn't know whether or not he was here and I frankly didn't care less. I've spent every day of the last thirteen years just trying to survive, both prison and being out in the world again. I have no interest in him."

"You must have had an interest in him at one point. You tried to kill him." PJ reminded her.

Stacy considered the comment for a moment before replying. "I was young and stupid. I thought murder was an appropriate way of getting out of an impulsive marriage that neither of us had really wanted. And yes, alright, I hated him. I resented the fact that he spent the entire marriage after the miscarriage staring lovingly at Dash. But right now, all I want to do is get on with my life. I wouldn't go anywhere near him or do anything to him. It's not worth it."

Amy leant back in her chair. "Were you drinking at the Commercial Hotel last night?" Stacy nodded. "For the tape," Amy reminded her, pointing to the recorder.

"Yes," she replied. "I was drinking at the Commercial Hotel last night. Chris Riley, for understandable reasons, I suppose, didn't want me anywhere near the Imperial so I chose somewhere else to drink."

"Did you drink with Tony Timms?"

She shrugged. "If that's the middle aged overweight alcoholic smoker who was flirting with me at the bar, then yes, I drank with Tony Timms."

"Was Tony Timms' mobile phone sitting on the bar?" PJ asked.

"There was a mobile phone on the bar...yes, it was his, he used it at one point to speak to someone who was probably his girlfriend or his wife or something; he kept calling her 'sweetheart'."

"Did you take the phone?"

Stacy stared at them blankly for a moment before laughing. "What? Exactly what is this about? Have you lot pulled me over the hot coals for the theft of a mobile phone?"

Amy sighed in annoyance. "Adam Cooper and Dash McKinley's young daughter has been abducted," she explained. "Right now you look like suspect number one, so if I were you, I'd start giving us some proper answers."

Stacy looked at them with wide eyes before combing her curls back from her face with her fingers. Finally, she replied to PJ's question. "No, I didn't take the mobile phone. That Tony Timms guy got ridiculously drunk and loud. In the end, the barman turfed him out. He left his phone on the bar and I didn't touch it because I assumed he'd realise he didn't have it and just come back for it."

"Where were you between 8:30 and 9 this morning?" PJ enquired, sitting back.

It took Stacy a while to reply. "I stayed at the pub until closing. The barman, Leo, and I got chatting. He was really sweet. He invited me back to his place for coffee and...and...oh, don't tell me I have to give you graphic detail of what happened!"

A slightly amused look passed through PJ's face, while Amy pressed on with questioning. "You had sex with him?"

Stacy nodded. "I woke up at about eight and at the time you specified, I was eating breakfast with his flatmates. You can check. I only got back to the farm about an hour before you lot showed up."

* * *

"No." Dash declared, shaking her head. "It must have been her."

Amy sat her blue folder down on the corner of Mark's desk. "I'm really sorry, Dash. She's got five witnesses."

PJ nodded in agreement with Amy's statement as he sat down. "Upon finding out exactly who their guest was, one of them even stated that he would have loved to have been able to have sent her away, but he just couldn't. He alibi stands up. She didn't do it."

Dash pressed her hand to her mouth, trembling. She rounded on her colleagues angrily. "My little girl is out there, in the hands of someone who wants to get back at one of us, without her parents, without anyone who loves or cares for her, without her puffer, without her bunny, without her..." Dash suddenly seemed to realise what she'd said. "Oh my...her asthma...oh God, oh God..."

Mark grabbed her and gently ushered her out of the office and through to the mess room, mumbling something about a cup of tea. Amy and PJ watched them go through the blinds on the window.

"I'd forgotten about Phoebe's asthma," Amy admitted quietly. She sounded ashamed of herself for forgetting such an important detail. "We're running out of time." She sighed dismally. "I'm going to go talk to Adam."

PJ frowned. "What about?"

"He's hiding something."

* * *

PJ sat back in the chair in his office. Amy had spent some time using the CI laptop, had had a long chat with Dash and had left to see Adam. He felt useless. There seemed to be little he could do. He was rereading the list of recent prison releases, just hoping beyond hope that something he had missed first time around would suddenly leap out at him and make everything clear. He was running out of ideas.

A knock sounded at the door to disturb him from his reverie. It was a Constable with a jet black ponytail. "Forensics results have come through for you, Detective."

"Thanks," he replied and watched the Constable disappear back out in the muster room to answer another ringing phone. They were beginning to ring off the hook now. The media must have gotten wind. They'd only be able to fob them off onto Media Liaison for so long; they'd have to give them something of substance soon.

PJ sighed as he began to leaf through the folder he had been handed. There were good finger prints at both the crime scene and on the note. And some DNA. But it didn't match anyone on the database. "Cleanskin," he cursed, throwing the folder back onto his desk and folding his arms across his chest. "Brilliant."

* * *

Adam was sitting on the front veranda when Amy pulled up. He didn't seem to be seeing or hearing anything going on around him; just...existing. He didn't realise she was there until she was standing beside him and saying his name. "Adam?"

He looked up, surprised at the intrusion. "Amy...hi. Has...has there been any..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"We did have a promising lead, but it's gone cold," she explained. At Adam's curious stare, she continued. "We thought Stacy Norse might have been responsible, but she's been alibied."

Adam nodded slowly. He went back to staring ahead vacantly.

Amy sighed as she pulled up the chair beside him. "You're holding something back from us."

"What makes you think that?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"Adam, I've known you for a very long time. Perhaps longer than I've known anyone else around here. You tend to get to know people you've gone through the Academy with, especially ones who insisted on making themselves as constant a presence in your daily life as you did. And – I'll punch your lights out if you ever say this to anyone – I appreciated the fact that you were the only one there to treat me like anyone else rather than some kind of freak." At this, something seemed to pass through Adam's eyes. Amy couldn't quite put a name to it...remembrance of happier times, perhaps? "I know when something's going on that you're not telling us about. And right now is not the time to be hiding anything."

Adam remained silent for a moment. He passed a hand across his eyes. He looked about to cry. Amy didn't know whether or not she wanted to hug Adam or recoil from him. This wasn't the cocky, immature Adam Cooper she was familiar with, or even the one that she suspected most of her colleagues believed that they were familiar with. This man was simply broken; perhaps the epitome of the 'walking wounded' analogy she had often used. Phoebe's abduction had been the final thing that had completely broken him.

"Is it to do with your son?" Amy asked. That got a reaction. Adam looked at her in shock. "Births, Deaths and Marriages records that on November sixteenth 1999, Wade Adam Cooper was born. He died on the twenty-sixth of December 2004." She watched as Adam dissolved into tears. "He drowned in the Boxing Day tsunami, didn't he?"

Adam nodded. "What the hell has that got to do with this? What the hell has that got to do with this?"

She almost completely ignored his question. "Over the last week of December and the first three months of 2005, the police were called to domestics between you and your second wife at least seven times. The only reason they didn't lay charges was that they realised what was causing the tension and decided it was better to let things blow over on their own. April Banks blamed you for Wade's death, didn't she?"

"Did Dash tell you about this?"

"Well, someone had to," Amy replied. "Your daughter's been abducted by someone who wants to get back at you because they blame you for the death of someone they love and you didn't think it was relevant to tell us that you had an ex-wife out there who believed that you were responsible for the death of the son you had together?"

Adam rose to leave. Amy climbed to her feet to follow him. He rounded on her. "Did you also happen to notice on Births, Deaths and Marriages that April Banks killed herself in March 2005?"

Amy frowned. Her voice faltered as she replied. "I didn't know..."

"Wade died because I was jealous of how much time he spent with April and her new husband and I believed that he loved them more because of the expensive gifts they could shower him with. April died because Wade's death completely destroyed her." Adam looked at Amy. He was a teary mess. "I killed my son. But April's got nothing to do with Phoebe."

* * *

PJ entered Mark's office without knocking. Mark was busy on the phone, but wrapped up the call as PJ sat down. "The Inspector's coming over from St. Davids. He's concerned by the media problem."

"Yeah, I can see what will be story number one on the six o'clock news," PJ mumbled as he watched the uniforms in the muster area. They were increasingly becoming distracted by calls from journalists, from Tony Timms up to the metropolitan TV networks. "Is he going to issue a statement?"

Mark nodded. "Probably. I don't know how much it'll calm things down though. He did suggest a press conference..."

"Just what we need," PJ scoffed, "put Dash and Adam through a bloody media circus."

"I told him that, in slightly less colourful terms, and he backed off the idea," Mark noted. "I've warned Dash about the media storm that's coming and I've sent Ringo round to the McKinley farm in case anyone thinks that harassing Charlie or his girls is a good idea. I'll allocate a couple of the uniforms out there to keeping an eye on Adam at the house."

PJ nodded dimly. He massaged his temple. "I feel like I'm running out of ideas," he complained. "This just seems to be getting more and more hopeless."

"Let's go back to the mobile phone," Mark offered. "If we know that Tony Timms left it behind when he was thrown out and that Stacy Norse wasn't responsible for the abduction, then that means someone else was responsible for stealing the mobile."

A light bulb seemed to have been switched on in PJ's head. "If Stacy Norse was at the bar flirting with the barman until closing, then that probably means that she saw who nicked off with Timmsy's mobile."

* * *

Stacy Norse rolled her eyes as she opened the door to reveal PJ standing on her doorstep. "Not you, again. Don't tell me you've got another warrant. I haven't cleaned up after the last one yet!"

"You were at the Commercial until closing, right?" PJ clarified.

Stacy stepped outside as she pulled her jacket tighter. "Didn't I say all this in the interview?"

"Was Tony Timms' mobile still on the bar at closing?" he asked.

She frowned and brushed her hair back from her face. "I don't think it was...no, it wasn't. It was gone by the time Leo cleaned up at the end of the night."

PJ nodded thoughtfully. "Was there anyone else at in the public bar last night?"

"Well...there was Tony Timms, of course. There were a couple of young guys playing darts; I think they only came to the bar to buy drinks and they left at about ten. There was some truckie who stopped in for a meal...Oh, and there was some really tall bloke who just sat at the bar and got really depressed over his beer for an hour or two."

"Describe him."

Stacy shrugged. "As I said, he was tall...probably taller than you. Blonde. Probably late thirties."

PJ scribbled into his folder. "What do you mean about 'depressed'?"

"I tried making some conversation with him – he was certainly better looking than that Tony guy – but he was just so glum. Upset, angry...I thought I saw him crying at one point. About all I got out of him was that he wanted to get at some bloke who'd ruined his life." Stacy paused. "You think he's responsible for abducting that girl?"

PJ frowned. "Maybe."

* * *

PJ was back in his office, staring vacantly ahead with his chin resting in his hand when Amy returned. She looked as frustrated as he did. "Did you get anything from Adam?"

She shook her head. "My lead dried up," she answered as she sat at her desk. "Dead women can't abduct children." PJ narrowed his eyes and looked at her with an expression that demanded an explanation. Lowering her voice so that the other officers in the station wouldn't hear, she began to explain. "In 1999, Adam met April Banks while studying nursing, she fell pregnant, they got married. Eventually, she realised he didn't really love her and walked out. In 2004, their son, Wade, was killed in the Boxing Day tsunami. April blamed Adam for his death." She sighed. "I thought April might have abducted Phoebe as retribution."

PJ frowned. "But April's died since then?"

Amy nodded. "She committed suicide in March 2005."

"Why didn't Adam mention any of this?" PJ asked, a little perplexed. "I don't understand..."

"Because he blames himself just as hard as anybody else could ever blame him. He thinks of it as a horrific tragedy that he directly caused through his own jealousy. He's trying so hard to lock it away. He doesn't believe it is at all relevant. Even Dash's thinking is so muddled that she didn't remember it until I prompted her."

PJ nodded sadly. He watched as Amy's face sank into her hand. Finally, he offered his own piece of information. "Stacy Norse gave me a description of a man who was at the bar last night. Judging by who she claims was at the Commercial last night, either he stole the mobile or it got into the hands of the kidnapper via telekinesis."

"Is the description useful?"

"Blonde, probably over six foot, late thirties. A very glum man who seemed preoccupied with revenge on a man who'd ruined his life, according to Stacy. Not much, but we've got it circulated."

Amy began chewing her thumbnail. "Great," she grumbled, "we've gone from promising leads to vague descriptions again." Suddenly, her expression brightened. She opened the laptop that was lying closed on her desk and began typing eagerly.

"Amy, what are you doing?" PJ asked. His voice betrayed all his exhaustion and confusion.

Finally, she grinned. "Births, Deaths and Marriages," she declared. "In May 2001, April Banks married Colin Montgomery, born on the seventh of September 1972." She looked at PJ. "Both Adam and Dash's tellings of the story contained numerous mentions of April's second husband." She shrugged. "What if Colin Montgomery blamed Adam for the deaths of his wife and stepson and decided to get some revenge?"

PJ leant forward as he considered it. "It would certainly be one hell of a motive," he conceded. "And he's the right age." He nodded. "We'll get his details out on the radio."

* * *

Nick sat on the bonnet of the patrol car, watching the other uniforms at work. They were reasonably efficient, he supposed. They knew that they were dealing with one of their own and that they therefore needed to be at their best. But he would have infinitely preferred to be in charge of his own crew out here. He trusted them more, knew them better. At least, they didn't avoid him simply because they'd heard about the deaths of his sons and didn't want to run the risk that their comment about their favourite footy team would reduce him to tears.

The traffic hadn't been particularly heavy. They'd stopped a grand total of ten cars all day and not a single one had been at all suspicious. Meanwhile, he'd been attempting to follow the investigation through the changing descriptions that came from the station over the radio; vague, meaningless physical attributes that eventually became a specific person to watch for, which then suddenly changed to something completely different. It was beginning to hit mid-afternoon and he was getting anxious. He hadn't heard anything new since not long after midday.

"Wouldn't you like to be driving that beauty?"

Nick turned to the Senior Constable who had spoken. The officers had congregated to watch a very flashy silver Volvo approach from the direction of Mt. Thomas.

"Driver's probably a jerk, Volvo drivers normally are," a female Senior Constable with a blonde bun volunteered.

"Still a beautiful car," the first said.

"Well, you're a jerk, perfect fit then," the second retorted.

Nick rolled his eyes. He wouldn't be surprised if those two ended up having a passionate affair in the St. Davids locker room. "Just make sure you stop it, will you."

They replied obediently and somewhat sombrely as he headed back to his car. He'd scarcely returned to his deep thoughts when one of them approached him. "Sergeant?"

"Senior?"

"We've got Montgomery."

* * *

PJ and Amy watched Nick lead Colin Montgomery into the station through the back entrance. They couldn't help but notice the tad too much force Nick was using.

"Interview room?" Nick asked.

"I'd say so, yeah," PJ replied. They went to follow him through to the interview room when Dash appeared from the muster room. PJ stepped forward, holding his hand out. "Dash, let's not do this again, shall we?"

"I'm not going to hit him," she reassured him, "as much as I would sorely like to. I just want to know where Phoebe is. If Phoebe's okay..." She hesitated, waiting to see Montgomery's reaction. He just looked away. She felt her heart break.

"Alright, come on," Nick said, pushing Montgomery past Dash and into the interview room. PJ gave Dash's shoulder a supportive squeeze before joining him.

Amy stopped next to Dash. "Are you okay?" she asked. But Dash didn't reply and simply headed back to the mess room.

* * *

PJ leant across the desk. Amy and Nick remained standing against the wall behind him. "We know you abducted Phoebe McKinley this morning. We know that you just tried to take off from Mt. Thomas just now. We know that you've still got her somewhere."

Montgomery remained silent. He buried his face in his hands.

"We've got fingerprints and DNA," Amy told him. "We've got a witness who identifies you as the one most likely to stolen the phone used to distract Adam Cooper. We don't have enough evidence to charge you yet, but in time we will. But right now there is a little girl who we need to find. Make it easier on yourself and tell us where she is."

Montgomery mumbled something into his hands. PJ pounded his fist onto the desk. "Sorry, I missed that."

"Mt. Thomas Motor Inn. Room eight," Montgomery said. Amy, Nick and PJ had already left the room before he spoke again. "I didn't mean it."

* * *

PJ pulled his gun from his holster and looked to Amy who was standing on the other side of the doorframe. She'd done exactly the same thing. They didn't know what they were going to find in there and it seemed smarter to be prepared just in case Montgomery had company.

He held up his hand and counted down from five. As he hit zero, they forced the door down. "Police!" they called in unison. There was no response.

PJ motioned for them to split up. Amy headed down a small corridor that looked like it probably lead to a bathroom and a bedroom or two. PJ took the rest, which was essentially an open space that seemed to consist of a kitchen and living area. He didn't have to search very far before he found the sight he hadn't hoped he'd find.

Amy returned from her search area, holstering her weapon. "It's clear," she told him. Her gaze quickly caught the same thing PJ's had. "Oh my God."

It was a little lump covered by a blue blanket.

PJ crouched down and gently pulled the blanket back. Phoebe McKinley's tiny body was lying underneath it.

For a moment, they were silent. They both knew theoretically what they had to do now, but neither could bring themselves to do it. They could barely breathe. All the hope that they had all been sustaining themselves with had come to nothing. Just a little body lying underneath a blue blanket.

They were brought back to earth by the sound of a car pulling up outside. Amy met PJ's gaze briefly before turning to look out the window. "She followed us."

PJ closed his eyes. He suddenly realised that he'd been crying. "Oh God..."

Amy met Dash in the doorway. She still had her car keys clasped in her hand. "Don't go in there, Dash," she warned her."

Dash simply stared at her with narrowed eyes. Amy's expression was blank...drained. It confirmed everything that she had suspected from the moment that Montgomery hadn't been able to meet her eyes. "Let me in."

"No."

"Let me in!" Dash snapped, shoving Amy aside with a force that Amy had never expected her colleague to be capable of. Amy fell hard against the doorframe, wincing slightly.

PJ stood as Dash approached. He bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, Dash," he whispered.

Dash's eyes widened as he gaze drifted from PJ's dark expression down to the floor. A sharp gasp escaped her as she realised what PJ had been crouched over. She knelt beside Phoebe's body and gently brushed her daughter's soft hair back from her forehead. As desperate sobs began to overtake her, she pulled Phoebe close to her and cradled her in her arms.

PJ crouched beside her and gently wrapped his arms around her in a vain attempt at reassurance. Meanwhile, Amy stepped outside, fumbling with a shaking hand for her mobile. She needed some fresh air before she began to vomit. Besides, Mark needed to be told.

* * *

The station was deathly quiet as they returned. The uniforms from St. Davids seemed divided between staring in shock and looking away and trying to find something else to preoccupy themselves with even though there was little else for them to do.

Mark met them in the muster room and gave Dash's hand a gentle squeeze as she made a beeline for his office, hiding her face from view as she curled up in one of his chairs. As soon as Dash was out of earshot, he turned to Amy and PJ. "Should she be here?"

"She insisted," PJ replied. "She refused to go anywhere else."

Mark cast a worried glance over his shoulder to his office before turning back to his detectives. "How did she manage with the ID?"

Amy simply shrugged. "About as well as you'd expect anyone to," she said. "How did she follow us out there?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't even know she'd left the station until you called."

"She should never have been out there," PJ mused. "She should never have had to see that."

Mark just looked at him. "No parent should have to see that, PJ."

PJ lowered his head. Amy looked to him for a moment before turning back to Mark. "Have Adam and Charlie been told?"

"Nick's telling Adam and Ringo offered to handle Charlie and the girls."

PJ looked up, his expression one of shock. "Ringo? You're getting Ringo to do this?"

Mark shrugged. "He wanted to do it. He wouldn't let me send anyone else," he explained.

Amy sighed as she combed her hair back from her face tiredly. "Is the Inspector still here?"

"In the bathroom tidying himself up, I think." At Amy's bemused expression, Mark continued. "He's going to give a statement to the media to explain what's happened and to tell them that we've got a suspect in custody. He figures that it'll be only a matter of time before something leaks somewhere or someone with a scanner picks something up and he wants to try to pre-empt the media storm."

PJ gestured vaguely. "I gather Montgomery's in the cells?"

Mark nodded.

* * *

"Tape recorded interview between Senior Detective Hasham and Colin Montgomery commenced at 5:03 pm at Mt. Thomas Police Station. Also in attendance is Senior Detective Fox," PJ said as he hit the red button on the tape recorder on the side wall of the interview room. He remained leaning against the side wall. "We searched the address you gave us. We found Phoebe McKinley's body. You knew that was what we were going to find, didn't you?"

Montgomery nodded, refusing to look up.

From where she sat opposite Montgomery, Amy rolled her eyes. "Out loud," she snapped angrily. "For the tape."

"Yes," he replied, finally lifting his head as he ran his hand back through his blonde mop of hair. "I knew what you'd find." He sighed as he looked away. "It was ten years ago now. I was at a mate's party. This...angel just...she was just standing there by the drinks table and the more we got chatting, the more I knew that she was the girl I was going to marry."

"April Banks," PJ said.

Montgomery nodded. "It took her a few weeks before she got comfortable enough to mention that she even had a son, but the second I met him I...I don't know what Adam Cooper's told you, but I loved Wade like he was my own. I couldn't have loved him more even if he was my own. I wanted to give him the world."

"Adam can't have been too happy with your presence," Amy noted.

"He was jealous as hell. I was more of a father to that kid than he was. I spent more time with him, I was the one paying for everything. Adam always promised he'd take Wade for the weekend, but ended up working an extra shift and cancelling on him. I was paying for the pre-school fees. I was going to be the one paying the school fees." Montgomery sighed. He almost looked like he was about to cry. "Adam always thought that Wade didn't love him as much as he loved me, but...the really sad thing was that he loved Adam so much, practically idolised him. But Adam just couldn't see that and kept trying to win him over...managed to kill him in the end."

PJ narrowed his eyes. "You're not suggesting Adam Cooper caused a tsunami?"

"Of course I'm not," Montgomery said, shaking his head. "But he took Wade there. April and I had planned the trip to Adelaide for months, it was a family reunion on my side. Adam knew about, knew how important it was to us. But then he showed up one day with tickets to Phuket and put on such a big performance about him being Wade's father and not me...April relented. Then comes Boxing Day..." Montgomery momentarily pressed his eyes shut. "She never forgave herself for letting Adam take him there. In her mind, she'd killed him. She took it out on Adam every time he showed up on our doorstep over those next few months. I watched it destroy her. And then one day at work, I got the phone call."

Amy just shook her head. "So, you decided to kill his daughter? Play tit for tat with him? Destroy his life like he'd destroyed yours?"

Montgomery shook his head again. Silent tears were rolling down his cheeks. "No." It took him a moment to construct a proper answer. "I lost everything with Wade and April. Job, house...the only reason I've still got the car is that it we'd completely paid it off a few months before everything went wrong. I've spent the last five years just drifting from place to place, trying to find something that could be considered close to peace..."

"Why Mt. Thomas?"

"It seemed nice and quiet. There was this pretty little pub that looked like something out of a history book. Even the redheaded barmaid looked like something from a bygone era..."

Amy frowned. "The Imperial?"

He nodded. "I went in, I asked for a drink. She said they were closed and directed me to the Commercial. I asked why they were closed and she started talking excitedly about some engagement between a couple of her mates. Some young bloke came out with a banner, asked if it looked okay. I saw the name Adam Cooper and something just broke."

PJ looked away. He felt winded. Their engagement party, the thing they'd been so excited and happy about had been exactly what had drawn Montgomery to them.

Amy pressed on. She didn't feel winded, just furious. "So what happened next?"

"Well, I went to the Commercial, proceeded to get drunk. It must have been then that I came up with the idea, because I remember grabbing the mobile on the bar and flipping through one of the phone books next to the payphone to try to find an address and a number. I woke up in my car at about six the next morning in the street outside his house."

"Drink driving," PJ grumbled under his breath. He was silently contemplating whether or not to add that to the charge sheet, just for good measure.

"I spent about two and a half hours trying to work out what I was doing," Montgomery continued. "It seemed petty and stupid in the light of day. But the more I looked at this perfect little house and remembered the stories that the barmaid had told me about this perfect little couple and their perfect little daughter...I didn't even know what I was doing. Next thing I knew, I had that kid sitting in my car, demanding to know who I was and what I was doing."

PJ left his post at the side wall and stood behind Amy. "Why did you take her to the Motor Inn?"

Montgomery shrugged. "I didn't know what else I could do," he replied. "I just rented a room and...told the girl to sit down and watch the cartoons on the TV. She kept asking where her parents were and asking for her bunny. I got her some chocolate from the fridge when she said she was hungry. She started saying I was going to be in big trouble when her mummy found out because she was a policewoman."

"How did Phoebe McKinley end up dead?" Amy asked, folding her arms across her chest.

Montgomery looked away. "I didn't kill her. I swear I didn't kill her. I didn't even know what I was going to do with her...all I'd ever been planning to do, even when I was drunk, was to make Adam feel some of the pain that I feel. That's all that note was about. I was always going to give her back eventually. But...she suddenly just...started having trouble breathing. I didn't know what to do." He began looking panicked. "It just got worse and worse and...then suddenly she...she was dead."

"Did you call an ambulance or a doctor?" PJ demanded as he moved to stand next to Montgomery. Montgomery looked up at him before shaking his head meekly. "Did you resuscitate her? Did you even think to try?"

"She was just...dead."

Amy just shook her head. "And you did nothing to try to save her life." She paused, drawing in a deep breath to try to keep herself composed. "And then you tried to run away and left her body there."

PJ looked at her briefly before turning back to Montgomery. "Colin Alexander Montgomery, you are being charged with theft, kidnapping, false imprisonment and manslaughter." He reached over to stop the tape recorder.

"But I didn't kill her!" Montgomery protested.

"That's okay," Amy told him, barely holding back her tears. "I'd say you've got at least ten years to work out what the word 'manslaughter' means."

* * *

Dash's head jerked up as PJ and Amy entered Mark's office. They looked to her briefly, uncertain of what to say, before turning to Mark.

"Full confession?" Mark asked.

PJ nodded. "And then some," he replied. "He's been charged and remanded at St. Davids. A couple of the uniforms are driving him over."

Mark opened a folder on his desk and held a sheet of paper out to Amy and PJ. "Preliminary autopsy results have come through," he explained. "There are no obvious signs of physical injury. All signs at this stage point to an asthma attack; sudden and very severe."

Dash's voice – quiet and almost deadpan – sounded from her chair. "Even with a puffer and a hospital, she might not have survived it."

PJ closed his eyes while Amy handed the file back to Mark. "It's consistent with the version of events that Montgomery's told us," she said. She cast a wary glance to Dash before continuing. "He blamed Adam for the deaths of Wade and April. When he realised that Adam had gotten on with his life, he snapped and grabbed Phoebe. He never intended to kill her."

Dash just looked away. Without warning, the tears began anew. PJ and Amy made their excuses and slipped away, while Mark gently reached out to squeeze her hand. "I think I'll take you out to your brother's."

* * *

Amy stood alone in the CI office, staring out the window. It was nearly nightfall and the station had begun to die down. The media were beginning to stop harassing them with phone calls and, with little more left to do except to try to plough through all the paperwork, the uniforms from St. Davids had shuffled off back home. Some had offered words of sympathy, others had simply been glad to get the hell out of there. Somehow, she didn't blame them.

Gentle hands closed around her forearms as PJ rested his chin in the crook of her shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up about it."

She just rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say," she grumbled. "I spent today doing exactly the same thing as I did to Tara Hobson and Nick Schultz on Boxing Day. I made all the right noises, nodded in all the right places. Exactly what use was it, PJ? We were five hours too late."

PJ frowned as he pulled away and leant back against the window to face her. "You did your job. You gave this case everything you had."

She shook her head. "It wasn't enough."

PJ nodded thoughtfully. "No," he conceded. "It wasn't this time. Our best sometimes just isn't good enough."

"Phoebe McKinley died of an asthma attack while we were hounding Stacy Norse," she reminded him. "We wasted so much time..."

PJ reached out to take her hand in his. "We did everything we could with what we had. We just didn't have enough to get to her in..."

PJ suddenly went quiet, his gaze drawn away by Amy to something in the corridor beyond the muster room. Amy turned to see what he was looking at. She caught sight of Dash's back as she slipped silently into the mess room.

Without a word, she pulled away from PJ and headed out through the muster room, past Nick, and to the mess room door.

Nick watched Amy move past her. He turned to contemplate PJ standing alone in the CI office and was only stirred out of his reverie by the sound of the phone ringing on his desk. Reluctantly, he answered it. "Hello, Mt. Thomas Police, Sergeant Schultz speaking."

* * *

Dash turned away from the door as she heard Amy enter. She wasn't crying and she was beginning to wonder if she'd cried herself out for the day. "Go away."

Amy took a few slow, uncertain steps towards her. "Do you want to talk?"

"No."

"It...might help to talk."

Dash let out a strange laugh. She turned to look at Amy. "It hurts to talk, Amy. It hurts to even think about it. It hurts to breathe. I just..." Dash's composure seemed to falter a little. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling. "Phoebe's...not meant to be dead. She's supposed to be here with me."

Amy nodded thoughtfully. Finally, she felt her own composure begin to break. "I'm sorry."

"Don't," Dash snapped. Amy seemed taken aback. "Everyone keeps apologising and saying how sorry they are and most of them are doing it to make themselves feel better more than me...to try to make themselves feel like they've done something."

Amy didn't seem to have taken much notice of what Dash said. "I'm sorry I failed."

"You're what?" Dash seemed genuinely confused.

"I...couldn't say anything meaningful to you at all today," Amy explained. "All I gave you were...the standard lines...meaningless crap...you deserved better than that." She paused as she tried to keep herself under control. "And...we didn't find Phoebe in time to save her. I'm so sorry."

Dash's eyes narrowed. She shook her head. "It's not your fault," she said quietly. "I know you and PJ and everyone else did everything you could." She sighed as she looked away. "You just didn't have enough time."

Amy lowered her head. She took a few more steps towards Dash. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

Dash looked at Amy thoughtfully. Finally, she shrugged. "I don't know what to do. One of my brothers died while my Mum was still alive and...I always wondered just how she managed to cope with losing him and keep going with life. She was always so strong and..." Dash just shook her head. "I always wanted to be like her. But I just don't know how to face this. I don't know if I can. I don't think I'm strong enough."

Dash sat down and leant back against the cupboards below the sink. Amy stood in silent contemplation for a moment before joining her.

"You might be the strongest person I know," Amy told her thoughtfully. At Dash's bemused stare, Amy continued. "You've fought cancer, you've coped with losing so many people you love, you raised a beautiful daughter and you were on your own for most of it. And you never complain, never break down, always have time to look out for the rest of us even when we think we don't need you, never use us as punching bags for your anger like the rest of us do."

"I'm not strong," Dash mumbled, "you're strong."

Amy scoffed at the suggestion. "I'm not strong," she replied. "I'm not strong like you, anyway."

Dash combed her fingers back through her hair. "What do I do, Amy?" she asked, almost pleading. "How do I make everything better?"

Amy looked very uneasy. "I don't know if I'm the one you really want to ask about this; I really don't think I'm at all qualified to give you any advice..." she began, but under Dash's desperate stare, she relented. Dash wanted reassurance and wanted it from her. "I guess...you just take one step at a time. Things eventually get easier and...you're not the same as you were before. You can't be. But...you can be happy. And...you make sure you keep your friends around you. It took me a long time to learn that, but that's probably the most important thing."

Dash nodded thoughtfully as she felt tears begin to roll down her cheeks. It seemed she was wrong when she thought that she had cried herself out for the day. As overwhelming sobs overtook Dash's body, Amy wrapped her arms around her and pressed her face against her shoulder. Dash wrapped her arms around her for a moment before letting them fall in front of her limply. They simply felt empty.

* * *

Charlie was standing on the veranda of the McKinley farmhouse, wringing his hands when Nick pulled up. Nick hadn't even gotten out of the car before Charlie was upon him. "Is everything okay?" he asked. He immediately regretted the question. It should have been pretty obvious that absolutely nothing was okay, not in the slightest. He tried to shake off his stupidity. "You sounded stressed on the phone. If it's Dash you're worried about, you don't need to be. She's at the station, Amy Fox is with her."

Charlie just shook his head as he finally took the hint from Nick's waving hands to stand aside and let Nick climb out of the vehicle. "It's not Dash I'm concerned about," he replied. At Nick's bemused stare, he clarified his comment. "This has near destroyed Dash. She's gutted. Phoebe meant the world to her. But she'll be okay. Dash is just like our Mum. When she needs the strength to deal with something, she finds it. When she encounters a crisis, she might bend, she might falter, but she doesn't break. She comes out stronger." Charlie nodded thoughtfully at his own words. "Dash will be okay."

Nick shrugged. "So what's wrong?"

"It's Adam," Charlie explained. "Look, I don't like Adam. I'm not going to pretend I do. I can't stand the man; I thought he was a cocky little jerk twelve years ago and the opinion wasn't exactly improved much when he got my sister pregnant and walked out on her." He sighed as he continued. "But I'm worried about him. He and Dash...they had...they had a blue..."

"A blue?" Nick repeated, eyebrows raised.

Charlie sighed. "Alright, an argument. They were practically killing each other. The things they said...I'm not repeating them, they're just too hurtful. Dash stormed off in a huff. I tried talking to Adam, to try to work out what's so wrong between them – I mean, I can't stand the little jerk, but for some reason my sister seems to love him – but he just stormed off."

Nick frowned and shrugged again. "Maybe he just needs some space," he suggested. He could certainly relate if that was the case. "Have you tried calling him?"

"He didn't take his phone," Charlie replied. "I've called the Imperial to check if he showed there, but..." Charlie trailed off before turning to Nick. "I'm worried. I'm scared. He might just be capable of doing something stupid."

* * *

Nick passed a hand over his eyes as he walked down the hospital corridor. He'd already checked the other pubs in town and the usual places someone might go to commit suicide, just in case Charlie was right. He'd finally ended up at the hospital. It was Adam's workplace and, perhaps more significantly, Phoebe's body was here. In Adam's place, it was where he'd go.

Zoe suddenly appeared in his line of sight, her head bowed over a folder she was scribbling on. It took her a few seconds to notice him. Her voice seemed almost devoid of emotion and a little empty. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Adam," he replied. "Charlie's worried he's done something stupid."

Zoe's eyes narrowed. "He's in the morgue," she said, nodding in the vague direction of the hospital morgue. "I think he wanted to see Phoebe..." She trailed off as Nick pushed past her. She rolled her eyes. She wasn't angry or frustrated. Just tired.

* * *

Nick saw Adam's back first. He was standing beside a trolley, Phoebe's tiny hand clasped inside one hand and the other being used to brush at her hair. Nick thought he could hear him singing, perhaps a lullaby or a children's song. Nick couldn't quite work out which one it was exactly, but he certainly got a vague sense of familiarity from it. It brought back memories which he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to embrace or dismiss.

He stepped forward tentatively. "Charlie's worried about you."

Adam didn't move at the sound of Nick's voice, but his soft singing stopped. It took him a moment to speak. "Perhaps I shouldn't have stormed out," he said, in an almost deadpan tone. There was a long silence before he spoke again. "I killed them."

Nick just shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Wade wouldn't have been anywhere near that tsunami if I hadn't have been trying to get one up on April and her husband," Adam replied. His tone hadn't changed and his body hadn't moved. "He was only in Phuket because of my ego."

"You were a father trying to take his son on a holiday," Nick told him, moving closer. "The tsunami wasn't your fault anymore than the rain and the flooded storm drain were mine or Zoe's."

That seemed to catch Adam's attention for a moment. But only for a moment. "And Phoebe...I walked out on Dash when she told me she was pregnant because I knew she would do a far better job of looking after our child on her own that if I had any input." He just shook his head. "I can't even remember why I came back now. She didn't want me here. I kept pushing at her and pushing at her..." Adam kept his gaze fixed on Phoebe's face. "Colin Montgomery wouldn't have wanted revenge if it hadn't been for my ego. He wouldn't have been anywhere near Phoebe if I'd just stayed away...or if I'd just been paying more attention..."

Nick lowered his gaze before stepping forward and placing a hand on Adam's shoulder. Adam flinched momentarily. "What happened to Wade and Phoebe wasn't fair," he said, slowly and with much consideration. "It wasn't right. But what happened to them was not your fault. Wade's death was an accident and Phoebe's...Phoebe died because a grief-stricken man couldn't deal with his own feelings, looked for someone to blame and managed to take it out on the wrong person." He squeezed Adam's shoulder. "It wasn't fair or right, but it wasn't your fault either."

Adam seemed to crumble. Tears started sliding down his cheeks as he held Phoebe's hand tighter. "I destroyed all of them, Nick," he said finally. "Wade, April, Phoebe, Dash, Charlie, even Colin." He just shook his head. "How do I face this Nick? What do you do when your life is as bad as it can possibly get, and then it just manages to keep getting worse?"

It took Nick a long time to construct a response. "You weren't the best father in the world, Adzo, but then again, I don't think there's a single person in the world who can qualify for that title. You gave Wade and Phoebe everything you had. You did what you thought was best for them at the time; in hindsight, not every decision may stand up, but that's the benefit of hindsight, isn't it?" Nick sighed thoughtfully. "You loved them with everything you had and they loved you back. But now they're gone and that hurts. It has to hurt, when someone you love dies, especially a child. The thing is, you've got to make the decision to deal with what has happened and move on in whatever way you can. It's time to look after yourself now, to face what's happened and find a way forward."

Nick's words had an effect. Adam began to sob, his body trembling as he sank to his knees. Nick crouched beside him and wrapped his arms around his old friend.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of brown curls and a white coat as Zoe turned and made her exit. He found his heart beating a little faster at the realisation that Zoe had just seen and heard the whole thing.

* * *

It was nearly two hours later when Adam arrived back at the farmhouse. Dash was sitting in her bedroom, the room she had once shared as a child with Madeline and Judy. She hadn't shared it for all that long – as the older of the McKinley children had left home, she had gradually gotten to have the room to herself. It still bore all the signs of her rebellious teenage years, including the MCD posters plastered on the wall above the bed. It was almost a record of her life, she realised, as she stood up to cross the room to the desk that had gone unused for most of her school life in order to closer look at the framed photo sitting on it. The contrast between the photograph of herself in a hospital bed, grinning as she held a newborn Phoebe, and the band posters of her youth seemed all too stark.

She sat the photo down as she held Adam and Charlie's voices. They sounded slightly antagonistic. That didn't surprise her. They'd never liked each other; they'd had what was at best an uneasy truce which was mostly for Phoebe's benefit. Drawing in a deep breath, she finally got up the courage to go out to meet them.

They turned in surprise to see her, immediately silenced. Sensing that Dash and Adam might be capable of a civil discussion Charlie took his leave, mumbling something about the washing on the line. Once Charlie had left, Dash ushered Adam through to the living room.

"I'm sorry I spoke like that," she finally said, curling up in one corner of the couch, with her knees close to her chin. "That was...cruel of me. I guess I was just..." Words failed her. She'd just caught sight of another photo of Phoebe, this time one of Phoebe with Macca and Kirsty. It took her a moment to recompose herself. "I should never have treated you that way."

Adam lowered his head for a moment. "We both said things we regret," he noted. An uneasy silence hung over them for a moment before he spoke again. "I'm sorry for everything."

She looked at him, slightly confused by the comment, before shaking her head. "No," she replied. "This wasn't your fault, in spite of what I've said. I wish I could make you see that."

There was another long silence. "I've decided to leave Mt. Thomas," Adam said, shifting uneasily on the couch. At Dash's raised eyebrows, he continued. "I've been a mess for years. Ever since Wade died, really. I never coped with it and I drew you into it. I shouldn't have gotten involved with you until I'd pulled myself back together. I just made a bigger mess, and not just of my life."

Dash shook her head again. "Adam," she told him firmly, "even knowing what I do now, I wouldn't have missed this – the chance to be Phoebe's mother – for the world. You don't have to apologise for me."

Something of a half-smile crossed his face. It disappeared as quickly as it came. "I need to find a way to deal with everything that's happened," he said thoughtfully. "To...face what's happened and to find some way to go forward with my own life. I don't think I can do that in Mt. Thomas."

She nodded understandingly. She knew what this meant – the end of their relationship – but she didn't feel upset or angry about it. She felt a strange clarity of mind that she didn't understand but appreciated deeply. She could see that Adam was probably making the first intelligent decision he had made in the last five years. "What do you think you're going to do?"

He shrugged. "I might go back to Phuket," he replied. "That's where this all started, maybe...maybe going back there might help me put some things together in my own mind." He nodded thoughtfully. "And a shrink probably wouldn't hurt, either." He frowned as he paused. "After that...I don't know. I suppose I'll see where I go." He shrugged again. "But I think I've come as far as I can go in Mt. Thomas and if I ever want to make sense of life again, it's probably going to be somewhere where I can build a future, rather than where I'm trying to live in a past that's long gone."

Dash nodded. She found herself smiling. "I think you're making the right decision," she said. "When...were you thinking of leaving?"

"Sometime after the funeral, maybe," Adam said, shifting as he became very uncomfortable. A silence fell between them, which it took a long moment for Adam to break. "I guess this means that we're finished," he said quietly.

"Yeah, it does," she replied. She jumped a little as Adam began trying to pull the watch off his wrist. It took her a little while to remember that it was the one she'd given him just last night when she'd proposed. She reached across the crouch, grabbing his busy hands to stop them. As their eyes met, both of them became uneasy. "Keep it, please," she said. "I know that there's been a lot of anger and hurt between us over the years, but no matter what, you are my friend and you were the father of my daughter. Keep it."

Adam looked close to tears. He clearly hadn't expected that from Dash. As he replaced the watch back on his wrist, he pulled her into his arms and for the first time since Phoebe had gone missing, they cried together.

* * *

Dash stood alone in front of the mirror. It was the day she'd never really expected in all her life to have to live to see. Phoebe's funeral. Adam would be leaving later that evening for Melbourne, where he planned to stay with his brother for a few weeks until he had a better plan for what he was going to do.

Without much deliberation, she'd decided to wear the white and yellow dress that her mother had bought her the day she'd been killed. She hadn't been able to bring herself to wear it since the day of her mother's funeral, but somehow, it felt like the only thing appropriate.

As she studied herself in the mirror, she couldn't help remembering the day she'd returned to Mt. Thomas, when Phoebe had told her that she was good police officer and she'd embraced her daughter in a hug. She drew in a deep breath to steady herself.

A knock sounded at the door. Charlie's voice sounded. "Dash? Are you okay? Can I come in?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Charlie opened the door. He was wearing a bright red shirt tucked into the best pair of jeans that he owned, which Dash had to admit wasn't saying very much. She'd explicitly told everyone not to wear black. Phoebe had detested the colour.

He looked at the dress before nodding. "You wore that to Mum's funeral," he observed.

She nodded. "Every time I wear it, it kind of feels like Mum's here, you know," she said as she turned back to the mirror to look at the dress. She still hated it as much as she had eleven years ago; it was an awful style, her mother couldn't have afforded it and, quite simply, had she seen it hanging in a shop, she'd have walked on by. She felt her composure begin to crack. "I don't know if I can do it, Charlie," she finally admitted. "She was my kitten, and I don't know if I can let her go."

Charlie gently wrapped his arms around her, letting Dash bury her face in his shoulder. "We'll all be there," he reassured her. "And so will Mum. You were her kitten after all, remember?"

* * *

It was a reasonably warm day, Dash decided, as she stood behind Charlie's shoulder, watching him read from the family Bible. They were in the family burial plot, not far from the house. A metre or so away were her parents' graves.

Her colleagues, Chris and Zoe had all come. They'd all followed her directive to wear any colour other than black. Amy and PJ were clinging to each other, and Mark and Chris seemed to stand strangely close. Nick and Zoe stood beside one another, but almost seemed entirely unaware of the other. Then there was Ringo, who stood in the middle of the group with his hands bunched in his pockets and his eyes red. Adam was beside her, hands clasped together in front of him, his head lowered. Macca and Kirsty were just behind them, Macca keeping an arm around her younger sister's shoulders.

Charlie finally finished, closing the book. It was a role he'd performed at many funerals for family members, not least his mother's. He looked to Dash, who nodded silently. Charlie adjusted his glasses awkwardly as he began to speak. "Well, I really don't know what to say," he said, shrugging. He gave a loud sob. "Of all the funerals I expected to be attending in my lifetime, this wasn't one of them." It took him a moment to gather himself together. "It was 2005. Dash called me and told me she was pregnant. I nearly died; I didn't know she was in a relationship, let alone likely to get pregnant. But, the second I saw that little girl in Dash's arms, I just...loved her." He looked down, concentrating his attention on a small tuft of grass at his feet. "She was this little ball of life and energy. She was my niece. Phoebe..."

Words suddenly failed him. He shook his head as tears began to flow and turned away. He soon found himself in the arms of his daughters, who were just as teary as he was.

Dash looked to Adam. He shook his head, keeping his face hidden. Drawing in a deep breath, Dash stepped forward. She hadn't thought much about what she was going to say. Truthfully, she had been avoiding thinking about the funeral. It was easier to deal with her emotions when she didn't have to think about the idea of actually burying her daughter in that area of the property that had once terrified her as a child.

It took a moment for the words to come. "Every parent thinks their child is the smartest, the cutest, the bravest...the best," she said quietly. She thought she saw Mark's head bow in acknowledgement. "And simply for no other reason than the fact that that child is theirs. But Phoebe..." She hesitated as she felt her eyes begin to sting and her throat close up. She reached into the sleeve of her cardigan for the hankie she had hidden there and closed her hand around it tightly. "Phoebe was all of those things. She was...always trying something new, always trying to get something around us because she knew we'd cave in." A half-smile crossed her face. "She was braver than me in so many ways. I remember once I had to go get a needle and it was Phoebe reassuring me that it wasn't going to hurt." There was a small chuckle from her friends. It made her laugh and finally brought the tears on.

As she dabbed at her face with the hankie, she felt Charlie squeeze her shoulder. "You okay?"

She nodded. She ran her hand back through her hair as she continued. "Mum said once that she'd always feel special because we'd been her children and she'd been blessed to have the experience of being our mother. Well, Phoebe was my kitten and I'm always going to feel special because I was the lucky one who got the chance to be her mother."

* * *

Chris stood behind the bar, running her fingertip along the rim of her glass of scotch. After the funeral, they'd stayed behind at the McKinley property for the wake, which had mostly consisted of a sharing of memories, reassurances and farewells to Adam. Eventually, Dash, Adam and the girls, exhausted by grief and emotion, had made their exits and Charlie politely ushered them out, looking just as awful as the rest of his family and coping simply because circumstance demanded it.

They'd ended up at the pub, where they'd quietly shared a drink together. Zoe had left then, followed not too much later by Amy and PJ. Finally, Mark had shuffled out, making whispered promises to Chris to return later that night once Ringo had gone to bed. She had been left in the public bar with Nick, who was sitting at their usual table, apparently trying to drink himself into a stupor, and Ringo, who was in the far corner and who had long forgotten his drink.

Glancing at the clock and noticing the time – twenty to twelve – she abandoned her scotch and decided to try to shift the stragglers. She started with Ringo.

"How are you fairing?" she asked as she pulled up the chair beside him.

He ignored the question. "Do you think that they can ever cope with this?"

It took Chris a moment to find an appropriate response. "With time and help from friends, yes. Yes, I think they can. I think they definitely will."

"I don't know how anyone can find a way through that kind of grief," he mumbled, eyes lowered. "I don't know how you get up again after that kind of blow...how you can ever be the same again."

Chris reached over to rub his arm thoughtfully. "You aren't the same again. Not after that sort of loss. You can't be. But you build a new life, a new you, and you keep going. You can keep getting up after almost anything, Ringo. It just depends on how you approach it and what sort of support you've got."

He nodded thoughtfully. Finally, he spoke again. "It destroyed Dad and Pat." At Chris' confused, stare, he clarified his response. "Losing people they loved."

She sighed. She understood where he was coming from, but she honestly felt too tired to discuss it. "I've got a longer list of people who have lost those they loved and who have come out the other side stronger," she pointed out. Realising the harshness of her comment, she stood and ruffled Ringo's hair. "Go to bed. It's been a hell of a day."

As Ringo slowly headed upstairs, Chris moved over to Nick. She leant on the table as she pulled his glass away from him. "You have a home to go to, don't you?"

"Chrissie..."

"Go home," she said sharply. "You have spent every single night of the last I don't know how many weeks propping up my bar and frankly, I'm sick of it." Nick looked at her with a confused frown. She just shook her head. "You have a wife who is just about at the end of her tether with you. I'm sending you home in a taxi before she decides that she's better off without you."

* * *

The house was silent and dark when Nick returned home. The only light on was one in the dining room. As he headed for it, he nearly tripped over something lying in the doorway.

"What the bloody hell?"

"Watch where you're walking, Nick. I think you're colleagues have had quiet enough tragedy without you breaking your neck."

Nick turned his attention to the direction of the noise as he righted himself. He could see the back of Zoe's head as he saw her sitting at the dining table. As he pulled up the chair beside her, he saw the glass of whiskey sitting in front of her.

"Don't worry," she said, realising that he'd noticed it. "I'm only having the one. You won't need to do me for drink driving."

"Drink driving?" He repeated, confused. As he looked around himself, he realised that what he'd tripped over was a bag and that it was one of at least four lying around the dining room. "What are the bags for?"

She looked at him blankly. "You're not this stupid," she told him. As Nick continued to stare at her desperately, she gave a sigh. "Perhaps you are. I'm leaving you, Nick."

Nick's eyes widened. "What, no! Where are you going? Why?"

"Which question am I supposed to be dealing with first?"

Nick buried his face in his heads. It took him a moment before he could lower them and look to Zoe again. "Why are you doing this?"

She just shook her head. "You're never here. You're always gone when I wake up and I'm in bed before you get home..."

"We've been a bit busy lately – John Maguire, Phoebe McKinley..."

She almost laughed. "If it was just those two times, I wouldn't care," she said. "I know your job is going to take you away sometimes. Just like my job will take me away sometimes. But this is every single day of the week." She looked away, combing her dark curls back from her eyes. "There's been so many times I've needed to talk to you about how I'm feeling, but you're just not there. I've been left to deal with the nightmares and the guilt and the pain all on my own."

Nick felt winded. He had no idea how to counter Zoe's argument. All he knew was that he had to make her stay. "Zo-Zo, I..."

"Don't call me Zo-Zo," she said, rolling her eyes. It took her a while to gather her thoughts together. "You never want to talk about them, Travis and Trevor." She watched as Nick's expression began to crumble and his eyes became dark. "I haven't even heard you say their names since the funeral. Did you even cry over their deaths? If you did, it must have been before I regained consciousness, because I've barely seen a single display of emotion from you about them."

He recoiled a little. "What are you saying?"

Zoe shrugged. "I thought maybe it was guilt. You know, maybe you were blaming yourself for not being able to rescue them from the drain or having to work on Boxing Day and for them being at a friend's place at all. But after hearing what you said to Adam, I'm not so sure anymore." She looked at him thoughtfully. "You're very good at giving advice, Nick Schultz, but you're not very good at taking it."

"I'm dealing with what happened," he said, reaching over for Zoe's hands. She pulled away before he could touch her. "I'm moving on."

She shook her head. "No you're not. You're bottling it up inside because you're too scared to feel it." She paused. "I can understand. You know what losing someone feels like. Jennifer, little Zoe..." She watched as Nick's face fell. "It took you so long to rebuild that you can't bear to let yourself go through it all again. But..." She just sighed as she stood up and began to gather her bags together.

"But...but what?" Nick asked, standing as he tried to grab Zoe. She pulled away from him again. "Zoe, please! You can't leave me!"

"Nick!" she said, rounding on him. "It is exhausting!" She closed her eyes momentarily before looking at him with a pleading expression. "I am tired. My own grief is hard enough; your refusal to face anything that's happened is going to kill me if I don't go."

He watched her as she headed for the door. Just as she was about to disappear into the night, Nick lurched after her. "Zoe!" She stopped to face him. "Stay. We can work on this."

She just shook her head. "I pity you, you know," she said. "You know how Adam's life became a train wreck because he spent five years refusing to face up to what really happened? Well, you put him to shame. It's been eighteen years since you lost your wife and daughter and you still haven't dealt with a bloody thing, have you?"

With her words still echoing through Nick's head, Zoe slammed the door headed out to her car. Nick slumped back against the door and let himself slide down to the floor. Slowly, he pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face as he tried to erase the memory.

* * *

Next episode... "Crimes of the Heart"

Amy is left looking hard at Charlie Clarke when his wife goes missing and his house is found looking suspiciously like a murder scene. As Dash begins to make her way back towards the light, Nick and Zoe continue to sink further into the abyss.


	11. Ep 31: Crimes of the Heart

**Episode 31: "Crimes of the Heart"**

I apologise for the delay in getting this episode up. Circumstances have not been particularly conducive to fanfiction writing lately (uni work, migraines, eye trouble, computer trouble...really, you name it, it's probably happened lately). I do promise that True Heelers is alive and well and that I have many ideas for future episodes kicking around._  
_

_Synopsis: Amy is left looking hard at Charlie Clarke when his wife goes missing and his house is found looking suspiciously like a murder scene. As Dash begins to make her way back towards the light, Nick and Zoe continue to sink further into the abyss._

* * *

Chris bent over the table as she collected the glasses. Someone who had been sitting there had apparently managed to spill a substantial quantity of wine over the table and onto the floor that was going to need cleaning, she realised with a sigh. She was about to let her barman know when she heard a familiar voice from behind her.

"Hey Chrissie."

She rolled her eyes as she turned to face PJ and Amy. They looked like they'd come straight from the station after that day's work. She couldn't help a laugh as she noticed the pants of Amy's suit were covered with stains. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Bloody burglar decided to do the chasing thing through a paddock, didn't he?" Amy replied, making one last vain attempt at wiping the marks off her clothes. It was a failure.

PJ just looked at her. "I told you to slow down."

"I nearly had the little bastard," Amy pointed out. "Stupid patch of mud."

Chris chuckled, her mood substantially improved, as she headed back towards the bar. "You should just be glad it wasn't something far more smelly and unpleasant."

Amy pulled a face as she grabbed a chair at a nearby table. PJ sat down beside her. "So what's going for dinner tonight, Chrissie?"

"Just the usual," Chris replied. "Can I gather you'll be wanting a shepherd's pie, PJ?"

PJ grinned. "Oh, you know me so well."

Chris went to ask Amy for her order, but was stopped by the sight of someone else entering the public bar. Her silence drew Amy and PJ's attention and they turned to follow her gaze. It was Dash.

Dash smiled. "Hey guys," she said as she pulled her brown jacket tighter around herself. "Can you believe how cold it is out there?"

Amy and PJ just shared a wary glance. It was left to Chris to speak. "How are you going?"

"Good, good," Dash replied, nodding thoughtfully. "I thought I might get away from the farm for a bit. The more time I spend there, the more obvious it becomes that about all Charlie and I have in common is a little bit of DNA."

Chris and PJ seemed to regard this with doubt. If anything, Dash had more in common with Charlie than with any of her siblings, if only in their possession of that amazing strength and selflessness that had so characterised their mother.

Dash ignored their silence. She looked to Amy and PJ warily. "Can I talk to you guys...in private?"

Amy and PJ looked to one another and nodded. "Sure, sure," Amy replied. She turned to Chris. "Can we use the Parlour?"

Chris nodded and gestured vaguely towards it. "Go ahead," she told them. She watched the three of them leave the bar and resumed her cleaning. Within seconds, she had been distracted by someone else entering the bar. Looking up, she realised it was Nick. She rolled her eyes. "I'm not serving you," she said firmly, folding her arms. "I refuse to serve you again until you've sorted yourself out."

"I'm not here to drink," Nick explained, adjusting his black woollen scarf as he stepped towards Chris. She stared at him blankly. "I wanted to buy the best wine you've got."

She raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. Nick certainly looked better than he had for weeks – brighter, cleaner and far better dressed. He even sounded cheerier, optimistic even. But her scepticism remained. "You're planning on wooing Zoe back?" she asked.

"Are you playing amateur detective?" Nick replied.

"It won't work," Chris said, placing a hand on her hip. "She's not looking for you to impress her romantically, you know."

Nick's expression faltered briefly, but he quickly rebounded. "She's my wife, I'll do this my way." He nodded towards the shelves behind the bar. "So, are you going to sell me a bottle of wine, or should I take my business to Carla at the Commercial?"

She frowned at him for a moment before storming back over to the bar and grabbing a bottle of wine off the shelf. She had a hunch Nick's efforts were going to fail and fail miserably, but it was Nick's money to waste.

* * *

Dash shut the Parlour door behind her as Amy and PJ made themselves comfortable in two of the chairs. She sat down opposite them and leant across.

"What's this about?" Amy asked, eyes narrowed as she shook her head in confusion.

Dash hesitated for a moment before she spoke. "You have a couple of spare rooms at your house, don't you?"

PJ looked to Amy warily before turning back to Dash. "Yeah, why?" About a second later, it clicked. "Is this a rather clumsy attempt to ask if you can move in with us?"

"Yeah," Dash said with a nod. She shifted her position in her seat as she elaborated. "As much as I love Charlie and the girls, I left home a long time ago and I need to get away from the farm. And I really don't want to go back to that house."

Amy nodded. "I understand."

"I considered the pub, but..." Dash was silenced by a wave of PJ's hand.

PJ and Amy looked at each other and nodded. PJ grinned. "Dash, we would be glad to have you aboard."

* * *

Zoe sat curled up on the bed in her motel room, picking at her microwave sweet and sour chicken. She was half-absorbed in an episode of _Inspector Rex_ when she heard a knock at the door. Sighing, she sat her dinner aside and crawled off the bed to answer it.

Her expression turned to frustration at the sight of Nick Schultz. "What?" she asked, placing one hand on her hip while she kept the other fixed on the door, ready to slam it shut if need arose.

He pulled the bottle of wine out from behind his back and bowed slightly. He grinned as he looked at her. His face fell as he caught her rolling her eyes. He stood up straight and offered her the wine. "I bought this for you."

She shook her head. "Did you pay attention to anything I said when I walked out the door?" she demanded. At Nick's wounded expression, she rolled her eyes again and closed the door.

* * *

Amy stood over the kitchen counter, one hand pressed to her temple while the other stirred the contents of her mug. It was late, or more accurately early; probably not even two in the morning. She let the smell of the hot chocolate waft over her, warming her body and making her feel relaxed. As she finished stirring her drink, she tossed the spoon into the sink and sank into the couch in the living room to check what was on TV.

She had barely gotten it turned on when Dash appeared, combing her hair back from her face. Amy suddenly became apologetic. "I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" she asked. As Dash sat down beside her, she gave a weak laugh. "I don't usually pay that much attention to how much noise I make; it's usually only me and PJ and that man could snooze through anything."

Dash laughed. "That sounds like PJ. Nah, you didn't wake me." She nodded towards the hot chocolate. "Is there anymore in the kitchen?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah, there's a box in the cupboard," she replied. "Do you want me to make it?"

"No, I'm fine," Dash said as she climbed to her feet and headed into the kitchen. "I can actually do some things for myself, despite what most people around this town appear to believe."

Amy sat back, cupping her mug in her hands. "Okay, fair enough." She could understand how Dash felt. She had more than once found herself up against those who wanted to wrap her up in cotton wool to protect her.

Dash reappeared about a minute later with a mug of her own. She sat down beside Amy and began sipping at her hot chocolate. "Is there anything good on?" she asked as she looked towards the TV.

"Probably not," Amy replied. "There usually never is any other time I'm looking for something to watch."

Dash looked at her thoughtfully. "You usually up at this time of the morning?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah, I'm not a very good sleeper," she explained. "I usually end up spending a portion of most nights sitting up with a hot chocolate, watching some infomercials, reading a book or trying to catch up on some paperwork." She smiled. "I'll try to be quieter in future."

Dash waved off her concerns. "It's okay, I'm usually up half the night as well. I think it started when Phoebe was born and never really went away." She went quiet for a moment when she realised that she'd mentioned her daughter's name. Finally, a little smile crossed her face. "I was thinking of returning to work tomorrow."

Amy looked at her worriedly. "Are you sure?"

Dash nodded. "It still hurts, Amy. It'll probably always hurt, at least a little. Phoebe will always be a part of me and I'm glad she will be. But...I guess I'm reaching the point where I'm ready to rebuild myself and pick up the pieces."

Amy thought for a moment then nodded.

* * *

PJ leant back in his office chair, his fingers intertwined behind his head. He had his gaze fixed on Mark's office at the other end of the muster room, where Mark and Dash were talking. He was disturbed from his thoughts by the sound of Amy returning from the mess room, coffee in hand.

"Anyone home?" she asked. She followed his gaze. "Are you worried about Dash?"

PJ frowned for a moment. "I'm worried, but...she's her mother's daughter to the core. She's...she's a lot stronger than most people would ever give her credit for. Myself included."

Amy nodded. She already knew all of this. She relaxed back into her chair and began to sip at her coffee. Almost on cue, the phone rang.

"Always when you're just sitting down to eat, isn't it?" PJ said with a chuckle.

She shot him a filthy look and answered it. "Hello, Mt. Thomas CID, Senior Detective...no, this isn't PJ Hasham...look, who is this?" She rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright, Mr. Clarke, can you just slow down, I can't understand a word...look, we'll be out there shortly." She almost threw the phone down in frustration.

PJ was grinning with amusement. "Charlie Clarke, I take it?"

"He was hysterical, I've got no idea what he was even on about," she replied. "He was going on about his wife...quite frankly, he sounded like he'd just swallowed a thesaurus."

He chuckled. "So our Charlie's just being himself, then?" He suddenly tried to preoccupy himself with his disorganised piles of paperwork. Realising that Amy was glaring at him, he looked up slowly. "Yes?"

"Aren't you going to, you know, do something?" she asked. "Like, you know, stand up, grab your jacket and prepare to come with me and do some detecting?"

He began to look rather pained. "Amy..." he moaned. "Charlie Clarke...he smells, he has permanent verbal diarrhoea, he...he...he smells!"

She just shook her head as she rose to her feet and grabbed her blue folder. "You big baby."

PJ looked a little offended and flustered. "Why don't you take Dash?" he suddenly offered in a moment of inspiration.

"Dash?" Amy asked doubtfully.

"Yeah," he said, nodding out to the muster room. Dash had now left Mark's office and was now sitting at her desk, apparently trying to get Ringo to leave her alone. "It'll be good for her. Fresh air, sunshine, a case to solve..."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, I'll take Dash." On her way out towards the muster room, she hit PJ over the head playfully with her folder. "But you're still a big baby."

He just grinned as he sat back at his desk and intertwined his fingers behind his head. He watched as Amy headed out into the muster room.

"Nick," she said as she approached the Sergeant.

He looked up at her with curiosity. "Foxtrot, dear. You want something, don't you? You always use that tone when you want something."

She shuffled slightly. "I was wondering if I could borrow Dash. Charlie Clarke called and it seems something might be wrong over at his place."

Ringo looked confused. "Charlie Clarke?" he asked, unfamiliar with the name.

"Ah, Charlie Clarke," Nick explained with a slight grin. "Local plumber. Complete drunk, utterly incompetent and veers wildly between malapropism and talking like a thesaurus on legs." Ringo nodded, looking a little bemused. Nick turned his attention back to Amy and lowered his voice. "Dash? You want Dash?"

Amy shrugged. "It might be good for her to get out of the station, get back into the swing of things."

Nick seemed undecided on that point, but a part of him realised that he had no right to argue. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. Dot, you're up. Looks like you're playing detective-in-waiting for the day."

Dash looked puzzled for a few seconds before becoming distinctly more animated. "I'll just grab my folder."

* * *

Charlie Clarke was sitting on the veranda when Amy and Dash arrived. He looked far older than either of them remembered, with unironed clothes. Amy thought she could see blood stains mixed in with the alcohol spills.

Amy looked to Dash uneasily before drawing her folder closer and speaking to Charlie. "Is everything okay?"

He looked up, seemingly only just becoming aware that they were even there. "I don't remember anything, I...I swear. I...I...I just woke up and...and..."

Dash and Amy looked to one another. Amy raised an eyebrow. Dash just looked confused. Normally Charlie got more flustered and verbose when he was nervous. Now he struggled to string together more than a few syllables.

"What's going on?" Amy asked with a shake of her head.

Charlie opened his mouth to try to speak, but words failed him. Finally, he just pointed towards the open front door. Amy and Dash shared a glanced before heading inside.

Dash almost passed out as soon as they entered, while Amy found herself instinctively recoiling and longing to return to the sunshine outside. Blood was pooled on the floor and splattered across the walls and furniture. A white blouse was lying on the floor near a coffee table, torn and soaked in dried blood. Nearby was long knife, not covered in blood but wiped clean. There was enough blood to make it clear that someone had died here, yet there was no trace of a body.

Amy turned back to Dash. Her younger colleague was leaning back against the doorframe. "Are you okay?"

Dash nodded. She drew in a few deep breaths to recompose herself. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. It's just...the smell...everything"

Amy nodded. She understood. It did it to the best and the most hardened of them. She squeezed Dash's shoulder before heading back outside to Charlie. He hadn't moved. She drew in a deep breath before speaking. "There's a lot of blood in there. Do you know whose it is?"

He stared blankly ahead for a moment. Finally, he spoke. His words surprised Dash and Amy, not just in their content but in their startling clarity. "I don't remember last night. I can't find my wife. I...I think I might have killed her."

* * *

PJ watched from his desk as Amy and Dash led Charlie Clarke through to the interview room. His interest piqued, he headed out to see what was going on. He raised his eyebrows as he noticed the blood on Charlie's overalls and pulled Amy aside. "What's going on?"

"His living room is covered in blood, there's a woman's blouse soaked in blood, a knife wiped clean, he doesn't know where his wife is and he suspects he might have killed her."

"Suspects?"

"He claims to not remember last night," she replied.

PJ nodded thoughtfully. "That wouldn't surprise me. He spends most of his evenings propping up the bar at the Imperial Hotel. That is, unless Chris has barred him or it's the cricket season, in which case he'll be at the Commercial." He sighed. "He doesn't strike me as the murdering sort though."

Amy just shrugged. "Anyone's capable of it, Peej," she pointed out. She motioned to the interview room. "Do want to be involved in this?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "You guys took the call out, so it's your case."

* * *

Amy leant back against the wall of the interview room, watching Dash as she dealt with the formalities of the tape recorder and Charlie as he squirmed uneasily. As Dash finished and sat down, Amy spoke. "Can you tell us what happened last night?"

"I already told you..." Charlie said.

Dash looked over her shoulder to Amy and the pair shared a weak smile. "Why don't you humour us?" Dash replied.

"Look, I don't remember much about last night. I was...Alright, I was drunk. Surely with your not inconsiderable intelligence you can work out what that means?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Why don't you tell us what you do remember then?"

Charlie sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "Well, after I finished work I decided to have a couple of beers at the Imperial Hotel. Of course, Christine was angry at me over an issue with her pipes and refused to let me drink there, so I ended up at the Commercial. I drank...well, a lot, and took some home."

"Charming," Dash said as she scribbled something down.

Amy moved towards the desk and pulled up a seat next to her colleague. "Do you remember going home at all?"

Charlie thought for a long moment before nodding. "I drove home in the ute. Dylan the Second began barking his head off..."

"Dylan the Second?" Amy asked, her brows furrowed.

"The dog," Dash whispered into Amy's ear. "Bob Dylan, you know, the musician..."

"Thank you, McKinley, I do know who Bob Dylan is." Amy replied tersely. "Anyway, the dog was being noisy..."

Charlie nodded as he continued. "Which alerted Raelene to my presence. She came out and we ended up having a blazing row and...I don't remember anything else."

Dash raised an eyebrow. "That's it? You don't remember what happened after?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. The last thing I remember is her threatening to pour the ten year old scotch down the toilet."

Amy took a moment to consider Charlie's story. "Where were you when you woke up?"

"On the couch. I saw all the...the blood and...and...I just called you lot."

"Back at the house, you said that you thought you might have killed your wife. Do you really think that's what happened?" Amy asked as she leant forward across the table.

Charlie looked confused. Finally he shrugged. "I don't know. I...I really don't remember. But...I guess that's what it looks like, doesn't it?"

* * *

Amy stood in Mark's office. Charlie was sitting in the cell, looking guilty or hung-over or both. Dash had gone back out to the house with PJ to have a bit of a sticky beak around. Not that Amy was entirely sure they'd find anything.

Mark frowned. "So he doesn't know if he actually killed his wife or not?"

Amy shook her head. "He drank too much last night. He claims to not remember anything."

"Could he be just pretending?" Mark asked. "Lying about not remembering in order to get off lightly?"

Amy shook her head again. "It's doubtful. If you're going to kill your spouse, even in a drunken rage, there are better ways of getting away with it than this. Much better ways." She combed her fringe off her face as she paced the office before turning to Mark. "Have you informed Homicide?"

"Oh, yes. They laughed, said they weren't the Missing Persons Unit and told me to get in touch when we had a homicide." He passed a hand across his brow thoughtfully. "Forensics are out at the house now?"

She nodded. As she opened her mouth to speak, Nick barged in without knocking. She glared at him critically. "Really, Nick? Is it that hard to knock on a door before you open it?"

He just grinned at her in his way. "Oh, you know you love me, Foxtrot." As she rolled her eyes, he produced a few sheets of paper from behind his back. "Forensics have faxed through their preliminary report."

Amy grabbed it excitedly and began to read. After a moment, she passed it to Mark. "The knife wasn't wiped particularly well. It still has a lot of traces of blood on it, but they managed to wipe the prints clean enough that there's nothing useful for identifying purposes," she explained.

"Blood type is B positive," Mark noted as he finished skimming through the report and sat it on his desk.

"It's Raelene Clarke's blood type," Amy mused.

Nick scoffed. "And mine."

She looked at him for a moment before folding her arms across her chest. Mark noticed she was biting her lip in that way she did whenever she was deep in thought. It was a long moment before Amy became animated again. "We need a bigger picture of this," she said. "Charlie might well have killed her in a drunken rage, but I want to know more about Raelene Clarke before I charge Charlie with anything."

Mark nodded. "You off to speak to Chris then?" Seeing Amy nod in reply, Mark rose to his feet. "I'll come with you."

* * *

Mark couldn't help but take a moment to admire Chris as he and Amy stepped into the public bar. Amy watched him, trying not to chuckle at the lovesick expression on his face. Somehow, the idea of Mark and Chris didn't surprise her. She wasn't quite sure why; if someone had suggested it to her just a year ago, she would have died laughing. After a few moments of contemplation, she tapped him on the shoulder. He snapped to attention.

"Enjoying the view, are we?" she asked cheekily.

He blushed. "What...whatever do you mean?" He followed Amy's gaze to Chris, who was busy behind the bar. "What? Chris?"

Amy just rolled her eyes. "You're very transparent, Boss."

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself. "Unlike you and PJ, I suppose. Exactly how long did that stay secret for again?"

Now it was Amy's turn to blush. She struggled to come up with either a decent comeback or a truthful answer. In the end, she decided to ignore the question. "Let's just stick to the matter at hand, shall we?"

Chris looked up from where she was serving someone a meal at a nearby table and grinned as she spotted them. She folded her arms across her chest as she headed over. "So, let me guess...you two are here to pick my brains because you can't solve some nasty crime on your own?"

Mark shuffled his feet as he blushed. Amy watched him with a sly grin on her face. He was behaving so unlike the Mark Jacobs she knew and more like a love-struck teenager. It was cute.

She cleared her throat to bring Mark back to attention as she addressed Chris' question. "Got it in one, Chris."

Chris just laughed as she led them into the parlour. "You guys really ought to have me on the payroll by now. I've probably helped solve nearly as many crimes as PJ," she said. Once they were all inside the parlour, she closed the doors and looked to them thoughtfully. "What's going on?"

"I was wondering what you could tell us about Raelene Clarke," Amy replied, tucking her dark hair behind her ears.

Chris' brow furrowed. "Charlie Clarke's wife?" she asked. She sat down in one of the lounge chairs. "Why? What's happened?"

Amy and Mark shared an uneasy look. Finally, Mark responded. "Raelene is missing. It appears she might have been murdered."

"Oh, no," Chris whispered, shaking her head as she passed a hand across her mouth. "Poor Charlie. He's a useless plumber and a hopeless drunk, but no one deserves that. Is he okay?"

Amy seemed uncomfortable with Chris' question. "Charlie appears to be in the frame," she answered. "We're just looking for a...a more complete picture of Raelene's life and we were wondering if you could help us."

Chris remained silent for a moment before brushing a loose red curl from her face and nodding. "Yes, yes...of course." She frowned. "Well, you know she's Charlie's second wife..." At the look of interest on Amy and Mark's faces, she elaborated. "His first wife, Cheryl, finally got sick of his drunkenness and ran off to Townsville with one of Charlie's suppliers in 2000. Raelene was a local girl, born and bred in Widgeree. I'm not sure how or when exactly they met, but they married in about mid-2001. No kids...the marriage seems to be about as happy as a marriage can be when the husband spends half his life being my best customer."

Amy scribbled everything done inside her folder while Mark spoke. "Did she work at all?"

"Ah...yes, I do believe so," Chris said thoughtfully. "She was working at the Bushranger Hotel out at Widgeree before she met Charlie, then I think she did a bit of retail here and there for a few years. She'd been doing some cleaning work most recently."

"Do you know where?"

Chris nodded. "A couple with one of those big houses on that new estate. I think Raelene said their name was Walker."

Amy nodded as she closed her folder. "That should be enough to go on for now. Thanks Chris." As she went to leave the parlour, she looked back over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Mark whispering something in Chris' ear. Amy tried to stifled a giggle. She hoped she and PJ had never been quite that obvious.

* * *

PJ crouched down beside the sofa in the Clarke's living room. The bottle of whiskey that Charlie had been drinking when he'd fallen asleep was lying on the ground, its remnants having long since soaked into the carpet. He considered it critically. He'd never been a fan of Charlie Clarke. Charlie made it very hard for anyone to like him, what with his permanent stench, his sheer incompetence and his eternal intoxication. But, as much as he understood Amy's argument that anyone could kill, he didn't believe Charlie was a killer. He just struck PJ as too pathetic a man to have any violence in him.

"Oh, Charlie, what have you done?" he mused quietly.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Dash's voice. "Hey, PJ! Over here!"

He looked over to where she was standing in the kitchen. Curious, he headed over, only to see that she had upended the Clarke's bin on their dining table. The smell was repulsive. "Oh, McKinley!" he said, pinching his nose. "Couldn't you have done this outside? You know, fresh air and ventilation and all that?"

She ignored his admonishment and waved something at him. "Look what I found!"

Rolling his eyes, PJ took it from her. It was a pregnancy test. PJ shook his head. "What does this mean?" he asked.

Now it was Dash's turn to roll her eyes. "Don't you know anything? It's positive. Raelene was pregnant."

PJ frowned as he sat the test down on the table and motioned for one of the nearby St. Davids uniforms to bag it. "I wonder if Charlie knew," he mused.

From outside, they could hear the sound of a car pull up, followed by what sounded like an argument. PJ and Dash looked to each other, bewildered, before heading out to have a look. A large woman was attempting to force her way into the house and didn't seem to like the fact that the two male uniforms on duty outside were trying to stop her.

"Oh, God," PJ whispered.

Dash looked at him. "That's not...is it?"

PJ nodded. "The Minister for War."

* * *

Amy refused the offer of tea and coffee as she was invited inside the Walker's house. Although to call it a house seemed misleading to Amy as it seemed more like a mini-mansion. She sat down on a couch opposite a couple in their mid forties; the woman with cropped blonde hair and the man with short black hair and thick rimmed glasses. Both struck Amy as very average – average height, average build, average weight. Nothing at all of note except the ridiculously expensive house they lived in.

Cynthia Walker smoothed out the creases in her skirt as she spoke. "So if nothing's wrong, what did you want to speak to us about?"

Amy sat forward, resting her hands on her folder. "I understand that you employ a Raelene Clarke to clean for you, is that correct?"

Cynthia seemed slightly thrown. She looked to her husband, Victor, who simply shrugged. "Yeah, we do," he said nonchalantly. "It's a big house. Cynthia's busy with work a lot – she's on the town council – and I run my computer business from home. We don't really have the time to clean and since we have the money to pay someone else to do it, it makes sense to." He frowned. "Why? You haven't just come over here to ask about our cleaner, have you?"

Amy brushed her hair aside. "Raelene Clarke is missing and it appears that she may have met with foul play," she explained. "We're speaking to everyone we can to try to ascertain what might have happened to her."

Cynthia seemed shocked, though her behaviour made Amy uncomfortable. It was shallow and unsympathetic and reminded her half the girls she'd gone to school with. Victor just seemed a little surprised.

"What can we help you with? We'd like to be as much help as we can," Cynthia said finally.

"When did Raelene first start working for you?" Amy asked as she opened her folder.

Cynthia frowned, struggling to remember. Victor ended up answering. "About a year and a half ago. Cynthia had just been elected to the council and we'd just moved into this house, so we decided to get a cleaner. There was an ad in the 'Work Wanted' section of the _Gazette_ and we answered it." He sighed thoughtfully. "I think she'd just been sacked from her last retail job and was looking for something to pull in some extra cash. Her husband is a bit of a...well, you know...alcoholic...and now there are other plumbers in town, his business is beginning to go down the gurgler a bit."

Amy nodded. "Did either of you see much of her?"

"I didn't," Cynthia replied. "I was usually out when she was here. She came in every Monday and every Thursday. Victor was here though, weren't you Vic?"

As Amy turned to Victor, he began to speak. "I generally stayed out of her way as much as I could. I was busy was my business, you know..." He waved a hand in the vague direction of his office. "She seemed unhappy, though."

Amy shook her head in confusion. "Unhappy?"

Victor shrugged. "How would you be? Married to that failure of a man."

Amy nodded. She closed her folder as she stood up and shook the hands of the couple opposite her. "Thanks. I'll be in touch."

* * *

Mark frowned as he heard shouting from the direction of the back entrance. Intrigued, he headed out to take a look, with Nick and Ringo hot on his heels. His eyes widened at the sight of PJ and Dash trying to a lead a woman taller than both of them, and probably taller than Nick, through to the interview room.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "The Minister for War?"

Mark turned to look back at his Sergeant. "Should I even ask?" he said.

"I just went out to Charlie's place to try to rekindle the marriage and these two goons arrested me!" the woman shouted, trying to throw Dash and PJ off.

"We haven't arrested anyone," Dash protested. "Cheryl's just helping us with our inquiries."

"What inquiries?"

Mark passed a hand across his eyes. He was beginning to wonder if anyone would miss him if he went home early. Finally, he spoke. "Okay, put her in the interview room. Ringo, you can go keep an eye on her. Amy's on her way back from the Walker's now."

* * *

Amy, PJ, Mark and Dash stood in the CI office, looking at the whiteboard that had been wheeled in and was standing in front of the windows out into the muster room. The case had been plotted out on it, or, at least, what they knew of the case. There seemed to be far too many uncertainties and question marks for any of them to feel comfortable with.

Mark shook his head as he watched PJ add Cheryl Clarke's name, plus a big question mark, to the disorganised mess on the board. "So Charlie's first wife is now back in the picture. Where do we think she fits into all this?"

Dash shrugged. "Could be a coincidence? She just happens to show up, hoping to get her marriage back together at the same time Raelene disappears."

PJ shook his head. "No such thing as coincidences."

Amy sighed. "Especially not in this case. Charlie's second wife just happens to end up missing presumed murdered at the very same time that his first wife reappears on the scene? It'd be a miracle if she's not connected somehow."

"What about the Walkers? Did you get anything useful from them?" Mark asked.

Amy shook her head as she perched herself on the corner of her desk. "Not really. Both claimed to not have had much to do with her. The husband did say that Raelene seemed unhappy and laid it all at Charlie's door though." Amy looked to PJ and Dash. "Did you find anything interesting at the house?"

Dash nodded. "Apart from the pregnancy test, there were a lot of unpaid bills. They're in trouble financially. I get the feeling Charlie's plumbing business has pretty much gone downhill."

"There's no obvious evidence Charlie knows about the pregnancy," PJ noted. "No signs of preparation for a baby."

Mark shrugged. "Even if Charlie does know, they might be waiting before they go all out."

"We couldn't find Raelene's mobile," Dash added. "I found a charger for one of those Samsung flip-phones, but there's no sign of it. And it doesn't belong to Charlie's mobile, because he has one of those massive brick phones."

PJ frowned. "Going off the evidence we've got right now, it looks like there's two possibilities," he mused. "Either Charlie's killed her in a drunken rage and Cheryl's reappearance isn't related; Cheryl's come back to town for Charlie, discovered he's remarried and killed Raelene and framed Charlie for it in revenge or..."

Dash shook her head in confusion. "Or?"

"Or Charlie and Cheryl have killed Raelene in order to run off and live happily ever after."

* * *

Cheryl Clarke sat opposite PJ, Amy and Dash in the interview room, her arms folded across her chest. She was eyeing them with bitterness and fury. She actually scared PJ a little. She'd always frightened him slightly – then again, he suspected that Cheryl Clarke frightened all men except Charlie.

"What are you doing back here, Cheryl?" Amy asked from where she stood behind PJ and Dash.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "I already told Laurel and Hardy here," she said as she pointed to PJ and Dash. "The relationship I had fell apart and Queensland lost its appeal so I thought I'd come back to Mt. Thomas and try to see if Charlie and I couldn't pick up where we left off. I was hoping maybe ten years might have seen him dry out a bit."

Amy frowned. "Did you know Charlie had remarried nine years ago?"

Cheryl raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well, it shouldn't surprise me. He is a bit of a stud muffin." She grinned a little cheekily at this. Amy and Dash looked sickened at the thought. Almost as quickly, Cheryl grew serious again. "Anyway, no. I didn't know. I hadn't spoken to him since the divorce went through. What's going on out at the house? You lot were all over the joint..."

PJ tilted his head slightly as he studied Cheryl. "Charlie called us this morning. When Senior Detective Fox and Senior Constable McKinley here arrived out at the house, they found it sprayed with blood. Not to mention a knife wiped clean and a blood-soaked blouse. Now Charlie's wife is missing and he claims not to remember what happened last night. You wouldn't be able to fill us in on anything more, would you?"

"What?" Cheryl looked winded at PJ's explanation. She just shook her head. "Charlie? Murder? You've got to be kidding me. I couldn't even get him to throw the bloody dog out at night, he's such a soft touch. If he's a murderer, I'm the bloody queen!"

"He does drink a lot, though," Dash pointed out. "He was drunk last night."

Cheryl shrugged. "Yeah, I know. And his drinking is a nuisance; it's why I left him. But he's not a violent drunk. He turns into a loud, bumbling roaring fool when he drinks. Not a dangerous one."

Amy drew in a deep breath. She got the feeling they were going around in circles with this case. It was time to try something different. If Cheryl was as scary as everyone said – 'the Minister for War', she'd heard people call her – then perhaps it was time to give Cheryl a scare.

"Look, Cheryl," Amy roared as she leant against the desk so that her face was close to Cheryl's. "We know you came back to Mt. Thomas to win your ex-husband back. When you found out he was already taken, you got angry. You got even angrier when you found out that Charlie was going to have a baby with her. So angry, in fact, that you killed her and decided to frame Charlie for it."

Amy was nearly thrown back against the wall when Cheryl burst into fits of laughter. She backed away so that she was level with PJ and Dash, feeling more than a little surprised. She'd had plenty of reactions to her 'tough cop' routine before. Most of them were usually fear or a rush to confess. Sometimes someone might try to match her in being terrifying. But never before had someone just laughed at her.

PJ frowned quizzically. "What's so funny?"

It was a moment before Cheryl had composed herself sufficiently to be able to respond to PJ's question. "You reckon Charlie got this wife of his pregnant?"

"We've found the pregnancy test," PJ told her.

Cheryl just shook her head. "His wife might have been up the duff, but it sure wasn't Charlie who got her that way."

Dash's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that...well, Charlie might be a stud muffin, but he's shooting blanks."

* * *

Charlie seemed flustered, PJ decided. He and Amy were interviewing him while Dash gave the Clarke house another search in the hopes of finding some test results that might support Cheryl Clarke's claims.

It was hard to know how Charlie felt about Cheryl being back in Mt. Thomas. Something had lit up in his eyes, a kind of spark that made PJ realise that Charlie had never stopped loving Cheryl. Yet it was tempered by the fear and desperation of not yet having any idea of what had happened to Raelene.

"We just spoke to Cheryl," PJ said as he pulled up a seat opposite Charlie while Amy remained standing beside the tape recorder. "She's denying all involvement in Raelene's disappearance."

"She would, wouldn't she?" Charlie said as he ran a hand through his hair. "If you think she's responsible for this, then you're barking up the wrong deciduous object."

PJ rolled his eyes while Amy tried to stifle a smile. He leaned forward across the desk as he spoke again. "Cheryl told us that...well...you were infertile."

Charlie looked somewhat alarmed by PJ's words. "She's told you what?"

Amy tilted her head slightly as she watched Charlie. "She said that you were, and I quote, 'shooting blanks'. Are you saying that she's wrong?"

Charlie buried his face in the palms of his hands. "No, no..." He remained silent for a few moments while Amy and PJ looked on. Finally, he lowered his hands and spoke. "Back when Cheryl and I first got married, we tried having kids. After a little while of doing...well, you know...and not getting anywhere, we went to see a doctor. They ran tests and found that I couldn't have kids."

Amy and PJ looked to each other thoughtfully. This certainly put a new spin on the case.

"Why are you asking about this anyway? Surely with your not inconsiderable intelligence the pair of you should be able to find out who killed my wife without bringing that up!" Charlie said.

It took a while before either Amy or PJ could respond. Finally, PJ offered Charlie an explanation. "We searched your house. There was a pregnancy test in your bin. The result was positive."

The look on Charlie's face was heartbreaking. He stared at PJ for what seemed like an eternity before once more burying his face in his hands. He'd finally worked out what had already occurred to the two detectives opposite him. Raelene had been cheating on him with another man.

* * *

Mark removed his reading glasses as he processed PJ and Amy's explanation of what had occurred during the interviews with Charlie and Cheryl. He frowned thoughtfully for a few moments before looking up to them. "Could they be lying? Could this be some sort of 'get out of jail free' card that they've cooked up between themselves so that it looks like Raelene was killed by someone she was sleeping with rather than by either of them?"

PJ and Amy shook their heads. "Doubtful," Amy said. "Dash is still looking out at the Clarke property, but I'm willing to trust Charlie on this even without them."

"You didn't see the look on Charlie's face," PJ added as he leaned against the window in Mark's office. "If he was acting in there, then I'll nominate him for the Oscars."

Mark nodded as he studied his detectives. "So Raelene was pregnant, but it wasn't Charlie's baby," he mused. "Any ideas?"

Amy began biting her bottom lip absentmindedly. "We need to look at the other men in her life. She was pregnant. There must be a father."

The door opened without a knock. Mark opened his mouth and prepared to admonish Nick, only to find it was Dash. She looked excited.

"Did you find any test results?" Amy asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

Dash shook her head. "Nup. Even better." She held out an evidence bag for her colleagues to look at. Inside was a notebook.

PJ frowned. "What exactly are we looking at, Mac?"

"It's Raelene's diary," Dash explained. "There's a half-finished love letter in there." She looked to Amy. "Guess who it's addressed to?"

* * *

Cynthia looked distinctly displeased to have the police on her doorstep again, regardless of her earlier keenness to be of any assistance possible. She looked even more displeased when Amy and Dash produced a warrant and told her that they would be searching the house.

"Is this about that Raelene Clarke woman still?" Cynthia asked as she chased Amy and Dash into the living room. "I honestly don't know what you expect to find. All she did was clean the house."

The disturbance was enough to draw Victor from his office. "What on earth is going on?"

By now, Dash had pulled all of the cushions from the sofa, while Amy was rifling through the cabinets. Amy looked up as she finished searching the cabinets and noticed Victor and Cynthia were watching with confusion and outrage. She contemplated telling them what evidence they had, but decided to hold off. Instead, she pushed past them and headed upstairs.

She could hear Cynthia and Victor hot on her heels. Cynthia was complaining very loudly. Now she was no longer protesting and was now promising to report Amy and Dash to their superior officer. Dash was trying to calm Cynthia down, but wasn't succeeding.

Noticing an open door, Amy headed inside. It looked to be the master bedroom. It was certainly nice, she had to admit. Like something from one of those home renovating shows. She heard Dash head into the bathroom next door. Cynthia followed Amy while Victor remained in the doorway, watching.

About fifteen minutes later, Dash joined Amy in the bedroom. "Anything?" Amy asked hopefully.

Dash shook her head. "Nothing."

"It's exactly as I keep telling you." Cynthia said irritably. "I hope you two can afford decent legal representation on your wages because I'm going to be hitting you up for harassment, slander and anything else that my lawyer can think of."

Amy sighed. "You have every right to file a complaint as a member of the public..." She felt her hopes falling. Nothing was turning up so far and it was proving hard to do a decent search with Cynthia screaming harassment. They had enough evidence for an arrest, but nothing would stick without further proof.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dash was playing with her mobile phone. Amy was pulled from her thoughts. "What are you doing?"

Her question was answered not by Dash but by the sound of a phone ringing. Amy's look of bewilderment became one of realisation. Dash had just called Raelene Clarke's mobile number.

Cynthia's tirade was halted. "What the hell is that?" she asked. She looked down. "Is it coming from under the bed?"

Amy got down on her knees and lifted up the doona. Sure enough, lying on the floor under the bed was a Samsung flip-phone, slowly moving towards her due to the vibration that was accompanying its ringtone. She grabbed it and stood up, offering it to Dash.

"Looks like Raelene Clarke's missing mobile," Dash said with a grin.

Amy stepped towards Victor. "Victor Walker, I'm arresting you for the murder of Raelene Clarke..."

Cynthia's look of bemusement suddenly turned into horror as she turned her attention away from the police officers and instead towards her husband. "Victor? Victor, what the hell is going on here?"

As Amy finished delivering her spiel and handcuffed Victor, Cynthia made a grab for her husband, only to be pushed away. As Amy and Dash led Victor away, she was left standing alone in the bedroom, all of a sudden feeling very small.

* * *

Amy pushed Raelene Clarke's diary across the table in the interview room towards Victor Walker. It had been opened to the love letter that Dash had found during her search of the Clarke property. "Raelene Clarke wrote this to you," she explained. "She seems very infatuated with you."

"That's not even starting on the number of times you feature in this diary," Dash added. She picked it up off the table, flipped to a page at random and began to read. "'I'm in love with Victor. Oh God, I love him. He is simply perfect.'" She sat it down so that Victor could read. "The whole thing's like that. It's not exactly brimming with ambiguity."

Victor shrugged, pulling away from the diary. "Escapism," he suggested. "A fantasy cooked up by a lonely woman married to a drunk."

"Victor," Amy said as she shook her head sadly, "we know Raelene was pregnant. We also know Charlie couldn't have possibly gotten her pregnant. There's not a lot of candidates for who the father might have been."

Dash looked at Victor thoughtfully. "She thought the pair of you were going to run away together, but that was never going to happen, was it? Did you tell her that or did she concoct that idea on her own?"

Victor sighed and looked away. Amy hit her folder hard against the desk, forcing him to look up. "Look at me!" she snapped. She opened her folder and sat a photo of the crime scene in front of him. "You did that. You waited until Charlie had passed out, you murdered her, you wiped the blade clean, you made a mess of her blouse, you hid her body, then you cleaned yourself up and went home for breakfast."

"I didn't have a choice!"

Amy raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He briefly lifted his glasses off his face in order to massage the bridge of his nose before replacing them. Even so, he was struggling to keep himself composed. "We were sleeping together. I can't remember when it started, but...we both just wanted an escape. She was sick of Charlie and I...I...you've seen Cynthia. It was half an hour every few days when we didn't have to...oh, I don't know...deal with everything."

"Then she told you she was pregnant," Amy said thoughtfully.

"She had these stupid delusions of us running away together and playing happy families." Victor just shook his head. "We'd joked about it. But it could never have happened. We were just two people who had sex together. We weren't going to get married or have babies or live happily ever after. Cynthia might be an egomaniacal bitch, but to have run away with Raelene would have been to have nothing."

Dash looked a little bit stunned. There was something about the brutality of Victor's words that hurt her. And, she had to admit, she didn't like the way in which Victor so quickly abandoned Raelene when a pregnancy made things hard. "How did Raelene take this?"

"Not well," he admitted. "She sort of went into shock. I told her that terminating the pregnancy might be the best bet and she went mental. I thought she was going to kill me and you know Raelene wasn't exactly a small woman. So I tried suggesting that she pass it off as Charlie's."

"But she knew that wouldn't work, didn't she?" Amy asked. "Because she knew Charlie was infertile."

Victor nodded. "She went into some long rant about how Charlie couldn't have kids because he was shooting blanks and that she wouldn't be able to pass the kid off as his." He looked at Amy and Dash, almost pleadingly. "I told her that if she wanted to keep this baby, then it was going to have to be her problem. She just wouldn't listen. She was threatening to tell Cynthia. You know Cynthia's on the town council; she would have left me at the first whiff of scandal."

"So you killed her?" Dash asked, shaking her head in disbelief and disgust.

"I went out to their house. I knew Charlie would have been drinking. I just had to wait until he passed out. Then I...I stabbed her, wiped the knife down and left it with her blouse and buried her body." Victor looked away. He looked a bit sickened with himself.

"Where did you bury the body?" Amy asked.

Victor remained silent for a few moments before speaking. "Charlie Clarke's back paddock."

Dash looked up at Amy and saw Amy nodding. It was over. "Victor Edward Walker, you are being charged with murder and attempting to pervert the course of justice."

* * *

Charlie Clarke was sitting on the bench in the cell and didn't look up as PJ opened the door. It was only when PJ spoke that Charlie seemed to come to life again. "We've charged someone with Raelene's murder."

Charlie looked up slowly. His face looked grey and he suddenly seemed much older than he ever had. "Who?"

"Victor Walker, one half of the couple Raelene cleaned for," PJ explained as he leaned against the door frame. He was having an affair with Raelene and when she fell pregnant and refused to terminate or pass the kid off as yours, he killed her to avoid having his wife find out."

It took a while for Charlie to digest that information. Finally, he just shook his head. "Why did she end up sleeping with him?"

PJ tossed up whether or not to reply, before finally deciding to. "She got tired of the drinking." Charlie looked ashamed now. PJ sat down beside him. "Do you know why Cheryl came back to Mt. Thomas?"

Charlie shook his head. "Why?"

"She still loves you. I don't know why, but she still loves you. But she's already left you once because of the alcohol and if you keep going the way you are, she won't stick around and she'll find someone else. You're beginning to run out of chances." PJ paused as he considered that day carefully. "You called us this morning because you thought you might have killed Raelene in a drunken rage. You didn't kill her, but this needs to be your wake up call. Sober up, Charlie."

As he climbed to his feet, he motioned towards the door, indicating that Charlie was free to go. Charlie began to move before stopping. He looked to PJ sadly. "You know, if Raelene had come to me and told me she was pregnant, even if it was with another man's child, I wouldn't have minded. I would have happily played along."

* * *

Amy knocked on the door to Dash's room as she peered inside. Dash was sitting on her bed, holding what looked like a stuffed bunny rabbit in her hands. It was old and pink and had certainly seen better days. Dash looked up, startled by Amy.

Amy frowned in concern. "Are you okay?"

Dash looked down to the toy bunny before looking up at Amy again. She forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine...I'm fine."

Amy was unconvinced. She could still see the tears on her colleague's cheeks. "Are you sure?" she asked. "You look like you've been crying."

"No, not crying," Dash replied weakly. "Just...having a moment, I guess." At Amy's bewildered expression, she elaborated. "This bunny was Phoebe's. Charlie and the girls bought it for her just after she was born. You could never get her apart from it. Well, almost never. You usually had to bribe her with something in order to wash it."

Amy found herself smiling. She began reprimanding herself, only to notice that Dash was smiling too. "Phoebe really was a great kid," Amy said, kicking herself for not having anything more constructive to say.

"Anyway," Dash said, trying to put the memories that hurt too much out of her mind for a moment. "What did you want?"

Amy seemed a little thrown. She'd almost forgotten what it was she'd originally come to see Dash about. "Ah, PJ and I were just heading down to the pub for dinner. We were wondering if you'd like to join us."

Dash seemed to cheer up considerably at this, though there was still a note of sadness hanging around her features. "Of course," she replied. "Do you think I'd ever miss a chance to kick PJ's arse at the pool table? I'll just be a sec."

Amy nodded and disappeared down the hallway. Once she'd gone, Dash's smile faded and she looked down to the bunny in her hands again. She considered it for a moment before kissing it gently and placing it on her pillow. Standing up, she looked at it for a moment before grabbing her coat and heading down the hallway after Amy, becoming happier at the thought of a good night out with good mates.

This wasn't the life she wanted or had ever expected to find herself living, but it was the one she had and she intended to enjoy it.

* * *

Zoe had dozed off while watching some quiz show on the ABC when she was awoken by a knock at the door. She remained lying on top of her bed for a few moments, trying to decide whether or not she could be bothered to open it. It was late and she'd just finished a long shift at the hospital. Not helped by the singing telegram that had shown up during her lunch break. Or the flower delivery that had had most of her colleagues joking about her having a lover on the side.

"Zoe? Are you in there? It's Nick."

She groaned. Of course it was. The man was making her life a misery and was beginning to make her wonder why she'd ever decided to pursue him all those years ago. All she'd wanted was a bit of space to deal with what had happened and for him to hopefully get the hint and try to face up to it himself. Instead, she'd found herself the unwilling partner in a courtship ritual.

Reluctantly, she climbed to her feet and opened the door. Looking Nick over, she conceded that he looked better than he had in a long time. At least he looked like he was consuming something other than Chris Riley's finest alcohol. But the sight of a heart-shaped box of chocolates in his hands made her blood begin to boil.

"Chocolates?" she said, folding her arms. "What is this? 'Courtship for Dummies'?"

Nick looked a little wounded, but he tried not to let it bother him. "Zoe, I love you. You are my world. I don't know how to prove that to you."

She just shook her head. "I don't want you to prove anything to me," she replied. "I don't want expensive wine, I don't want flowers, I don't want singing telegrams and I don't want Belgian chocolates." She grabbed his arms and met his gaze. "I want you to accept what has happened rather than just trying to shut it off and pretend everything's fine. I want to go through this with you, but if you're not going to deal with this, then I'll go through it without you."

Nick remained silent. After a while, he lowered his gaze from hers.

Finally, Zoe pulled her hands away. "I'm not coming home, Nick. And, right now, I'm not so sure we've got a future."

With that, Zoe headed back inside her motel room and closed the door, leaving Nick standing outside in the cold holding a box of unwanted chocolates.

* * *

Next episode ... "Occupational Hazard"

Several careers are left in the balance after allegations of a cover-up regarding a death at the hospital. Nick's continued refusal to face reality forces Zoe to concede that their relationship may be too broken to fix.


	12. Ep 32: Occupational Hazard

It has been a ridiculously long time since I updated True Heelers and for that I'm extremely sorry. To explain it simply, real life got complicated and required far more time and emotional energy from me than I could have ever expected. I simply didn't have anything left over to work on True Heelers this year.

I should also note that these same issues have forced a slight change in my plans with how many "episodes" I planned to do. Originally, there were to be 20 episodes a series and I once had full intentions of doing a full 20 episodes for Season 2, which would give True Heelers 40 episodes overall. I have decided to cut this back so that Season 2 will end after Episode 33. This episode was always intended to resolve several important plot points and works out as a rather good note to end Season 2 on.

Thank you to anyone who's stuck around this long (one and a half years is an insanely long time to be waiting for an update, I know lol). I appreciate every single one of you. I don't know what I did to deserve such wonderful readers who put up with my sporadic updating. :)

**Episode 32: "Occupational Hazard"**

**_Summary: Several careers are left in the balance after allegations of a cover-up regarding a death at the hospital. Nick's continued refusal to face reality forces Zoe to concede that their relationship may be too broken to fix._**

Dash stretched out in the passenger seat of the patrol car as she yawned. Despite her best attempts at persuasion, she had somehow ended up with the early shift. And, worse, had ended up with an early morning patrol alongside Ringo. She liked Ringo – he was a great kid, Maggie's cousin through and through – but she still couldn't help but think that the sooner they got another Constable at the station, the better. There was something wrong with the world when a Senior Constable was expected to do the duties she would have once delegated to an officer of Ringo's experience or less.

It had been a couple of weeks since the Charlie Clarke debacle, as Amy had taken to calling it – and Dash had to concede that there probably weren't too many more accurate phrases to use to describe it. The arrest of a councillor's husband, and especially one as wealthy and powerful as Cynthia Walker, had sent some shockwaves through the town, though PJ had been quite amused by the fact that Chris had seemed more pleased than anything to have some ammunition to use against her old council foe. However, ultimately, with the exception of Charlie and Cheryl now making occasional outings together – seemingly trying to work out whether or not they had any hope as a couple again – life was back to normal.

Well, Dash had to remind herself, not quite. Nick and Zoe were still estranged. Things seemed to be getting worse, if that was at all possible. Nick kept trying to call, only to find his contact refused, then trying to take out his frustrations on the nearest colleague. Usually, it was Ringo. Sometimes, she took pity on her poor young colleague and got him out of the line of fire just in time. Zoe still showed up at the Imperial sometimes, but she always made sure to be gone before Nick or any of his colleagues made their entrance.

Still, she supposed she couldn't judge, she realised as she slumped further into the passenger seat. She and Adam hadn't exactly survived Phoebe's death.

"You okay?" Ringo asked, his voice stirring her from her thoughts. She was grateful for the distraction, if she was honest. "You look…I don't know. Awful."

Dash couldn't help a chuckle. "Awful's a pretty good description," she said, forcing a smile. As she met Ringo's eyes, the smile quickly became a genuine one. "Yeah, I'm fine." She waved off his concern. "Be better when everything's back to normal around here, though."

Now it was Ringo's turn to laugh. "Normal? Since when has anything ever been normal around here?"

She just shook her head. "Good point." She turned to look out the side window. She let her gaze drift aimlessly until something caught her eye. It was a man and a women struggling, apparently quite violently. She thought she even heard them shouting. "Hey, pull up over there," she said as she pointed.

Ringo noticed the argument and followed her direction. They observed the struggle for a few seconds before climbing out of the car and heading over. Dash automatically assumed her position as senior officer as she took the lead. "Is there anything wrong here?" she asked.

The man pulled back straight away. He ran his hand back through his hair, muttering under his breath. "Great, now the cops are involved."

The woman turned to Ringo and Dash. "I want this bastard and his bunch of negligent doctors charged."

"I'm…I'm sorry?" Dash asked, shaking her head in confusion.

The man seemed to have regained his composure. "Look," he said, planting himself in front of Dash, seemingly recognising that she was in charge here, "my name is Stanley Blackman. I'm the Head of the Mt. Thomas General Hospital Board. This is my house, my property, and she's trespassing. I want her charged with trespass and assault."

"And I want him charged with murder and…and…covering his own arse!" the woman countered indignantly.

Dash watched them with narrowed eyes, her expression one of confusion. Ringo was looking at her with bemusement. He moved close to her to speak to her quietly. "So…what do we do?"

It took Dash only a few seconds to decide. "You're both coming down to the station," she declared as she clapped her hands together. "One of our detectives can decide who gets to be charged."

* * *

Amy stood in the mess room, methodically stirring sugar into her coffee. She knew she was counting every time her spoon completed its lap of her mug. She knew she was already onto her second coffee of the day and it wasn't nine yet. And, in perhaps what was her harshest realisation of all, she knew that she retreated into her old standbys of perfectionism and caffeine overload – at least, more than she already did – whenever the emotional drain got too much. And, right now, the emotional burden was getting too much for all of them.

Nick worried her. Normally they were close, and in the immediate aftermath of the twin's deaths that hadn't changed. In fact, she knew that he'd probably confided in her more than Zoe and that made her feel a bit guilty. But right now, Nick barely spoke to her. In the last couple of weeks, he'd probably only mentioned three words in her presence and hadn't used her nickname at all. And it hurt more than she'd imagined it ever would.

She tossed the spoon into the sink and sipped at her coffee. Perfect. As she knew it would be. She used her free hand to comb her hair back behind her ears as headed down the corridor to the CI office, stopping on the way to look in on Nick on his own in the muster room. He was pretending to work. Not that she knew why he kept up the guise. She'd long ago stopped thinking that Nick being at work was a good idea and starting thinking that they'd all be better off if Mark just told him to go home until he'd sorted himself out.

As Amy turned to continued back on her way to her office, the door to the back entrance opened. Dash stepped through first, escorting a woman in her late-twenties with shoulder-length black hair, followed by Ringo who was accompanied by a balding man in his late forties. Amy studied them for a moment – the woman looked ready to rip someone's head off, while the man looked faintly bored and somewhat defensive. Dash made a motion that indicated she'd be needed, so Amy leant against the charge counter and sipped at her coffee while she waited for her younger colleagues to settle their suspects.

Eventually Dash emerged from the passive interview room. She explained the scene that morning to Amy, who listened with a trace of amusement on her face. Finally, Amy turned to her office and shouted. "PJ!"

PJ didn't get up. Instead, his voice bellowed out. "The doctor is in!"

She rolled her eyes. "Would you like to get up and actually solve a case?"

Dash chuckled. "Yeah, let's give the taxpayer full value for their money, for once," she joked.

A crumpled up piece of paper went flying out through the door and narrowly missed Dash's head. Amy couldn't help but admire her husband's aim as PJ emerged, pulling his jacket around his shoulders.

Whatever else was going on in Mt. Thomas, it was time to actually do some work.

* * *

PJ sat down opposite the man in the interview room. He heard Ringo shut the door behind him as he opened up his folder and pulled out a biro. He looked up. The man was looking distinctly irritated at this point. "Now…" PJ began.

"Look," Stanley Blackman said as he broke in on PJ before he'd had a chance to start, "I was getting ready for work. That crazy…woman started bashing my door in. She started trying to assault me. I asked her to leave, she wouldn't. Your goons barged in and arrested me." He paused, giving a thoughtful shrug. "Though I suppose they also arrested her, so I can't complain too much."

PJ raised an eyebrow. "So…this 'crazy woman' just loses it for no reason and decides that you're a great target?" he asked sceptically.

Stanley pressed his lips together hard. Finally, he sighed and relented. "You know I'm in charge of the hospital, right?" At PJ's nod, Stanley continued. "Well, she's trying to bring a malpractice suit against us. Has been for a few months now. She thinks one of my doctors killed her husband."

"Did they?" Ringo asked, his voice seeming to come from nowhere. Both PJ and Stanley looked to him in surprise.

"No," Stanley replied tersely. He sighed again. "Anyway, she's upset because she thinks some file is missing."

PJ just shrugged. "'Crazy woman'…'some file'…Can we trying speaking in terms that might actually mean something?" Inwardly, he wanted to throw something. Even Charlie Clarke's permanent verbal diarrhoea was preferable to this.

"Her husband's medical record," Stanley clarified. The expression on PJ's face was telling him that the detective was not to be messed with today. "It isn't missing. It's sitting with the rest of the files at the hospital. But she's claiming that the one we've got is an altered copy and that the original is missing."

"Is she right?" Ringo asked.

Stanley shrugged. "Sounds like a fantasy to me, but then again, I'm not the doctors who treated her husband. My job's to make sure the hospital keeps its nose clean."

* * *

Renee Bonner struck Amy as an intelligent woman. She certainly seemed to know the intricate details of the situation and her memory was extraordinary. Her attitude also hit Amy. She knew full well what she'd been doing and had no problems with the possible legal consequences. But if it got her somewhere, she didn't care.

Amy folded her arms against her chest as she leant back against the wall of the passive interview room. "So you're saying that one of the doctors at the hospital killed your husband?"

Renee nodded firmly. "On the twenty sixth of December 2009, my husband was admitted with what looked like a bad infection." She paused, tears briefly showing in her eyes. She quickly blinked them away and continued. "That afternoon, he went into anaphylactic shock and died."

Dash leant back in the chair she was sitting in as she shook her head. "Anaphylaxis?" she asked. "But that's…"

Renee made a sound that indicated that Dash was right as she cut her off. "Allergies," she said. "My husband, David, was severely allergic to penicillin. They were informed of that when he was admitted. At some point, one of the doctors treating him gave it to him."

Amy shook her head in confusion. "Your husband died in December and it's now been at least three months. There must have been some sort of investigation by now. Didn't it look at the records of what medications he was given and compare that to his general patient records and find out what actually happened?"

"You'd have thought that, wouldn't you?" Renee replied, fury in her voice. "The records don't match. The names and signatures on who signed out the penicillin and who delivered it are illegible. The two doctors claim not to remember what happened that day – bloody convenient if you ask me. And David's records are fake. Someone's removed the fact that he's allergic to penicillin."

Amy began biting her bottom lip as she nodded distractedly. She could see exactly how any investigation into this would have unfolded. "They found that the doctors administered the penicillin in an understandable attempt to clear his infection and the anaphylaxis was a result of neither you nor your husband mentioning the allergy, right?"

Renee nodded. "Something like that." She sat there, breathing heavily for a moment before leaning across the table. "I want them charged. First, I just wanted the piece of slime struck off, but now I want them charged. Murder, manslaughter, damned incompetence – whatever you've got. You've got the ability to investigate this, don't you?"

Dash turned around to look at Amy. There was an uneasy expression on her colleague's face. Amy let her head hang as she surveyed Renee. Finally, she drew herself up to her full height and nodded. "Okay, we'll look into it. Who were the doctors who treated your husband?"

"Doctor Julian Thompson and Doctor Zoe Hamilton."

* * *

"Zoe?" PJ asked, eyes wide. "Zoe Hamilton? As in our Zoe?"

Amy just shrugged. "I didn't know there were too many other Zoe Hamiltons running around Mt. Thomas treating people, Peej."

Amy, PJ, Dash and Ringo had joined Mark in his office and shared the information that they'd gleaned from their suspects. None of them particularly liked what they were hearing, but PJ seemed to be having particular trouble with it. Given his reaction, Mark was glad that he'd stopped Ringo from inviting Nick into the conversation. Instead, their Sergeant had been sent over to St. Davids with some reports that the Inspector had requested – a not particularly important duty that Mark normally would have let slide, but which had suddenly become vital when it became apparent that getting Nick out of the way was a good idea.

PJ paced the length of Mark's office, shaking his head. "I don't see it," he said simply. "I just don't see it."

Amy shrugged. "Neither do I, but that's what Renee Bonner is alleging." She paused. "Well, actually she's pointing the finger at both doctors who were on duty that day."

Ringo's voice came from where he sat against the window. "What I don't get is why neither of the doctor's remember what happened that day," he said.

"It was the twenty sixth of December, Ringo." Dash was looking at Ringo as she waited for it to click. "Boxing Day."

It took only a few seconds for her words to sink in for all of her colleagues. Ringo averted his gaze while Mark's head sunk into his hands. PJ stopped pacing and looked at Dash wide eyed and Amy suddenly became preoccupied with something outside the window.

Amy didn't really hear her colleagues as they made murmured acknowledgements of what had happened that awful day. She was too busy stopping herself from remembering. She didn't blame Zoe for not wanting to remember the day her sons had drowned in a flooded storm drain, and she certainly didn't blame Zoe for not remembering anything that had happened on the day that she had almost died herself.

Mark finally lifted his head from his hands. He looked as though he wouldn't mind throwing his hands up in despair and going home to curl up in bed. The day was beginning to look like it was going to be one of those awful experiences that one preferred to pretend never happened.

"Right," he said as he turned to Amy. "I want you and Dash to go over to the hospital and have a chat to Zoe and this Julian Thompson fellow and see what you can find out. Speak to the other staff as well." At the expression on PJ's face, who seemed more than a little offended at the thought that Mark was sending Dash out with Amy rather than himself, Mark continued. "A softly-softly approach might be the go here."

Dash tried not to laugh at the thought of Amy 'Death Glare of Doom' Fox ever being party to a 'softly-softly approach', but quickly recovered. She drew herself up to her full height – which even she had to admit wasn't very tall – and looked to Mark with an innocent expression.

"What about us?" Ringo asked with a shrug.

Mark frowned for a moment before answering. "Pull any files you can find. There was probably an inquest – find the documents. Births, Deaths and Marriages…you name it, you check it." He turned to PJ. "And I want you to speak to any contacts you've got who might be useful. Coroner's Court, medical associations, whatever. I know you've got friends in high places."

PJ nodded as he folded his arms across his chest. "Zoe wouldn't do this," he said firmly.

Mark sighed heavily. It took him longer than he would have liked to construct a response for his detective. "Look, right now, I really don't care what you believe, PJ. Give me the evidence to prove it, because your gut feeling won't count for much if this ends up as a court case."

* * *

Amy sighed heavily as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat. She and Dash had spoken to both doctors, without a great deal of success. Zoe had initially assumed they were there on some mission of Nick's to woo her on his behalf and actually seemed quite relieved that they weren't. She'd claimed not to remember anything about that day that didn't relate to her boys' deaths in some tangential way. Julian Thompson, on the other hand, had simply said that he had been so run off his feet that day – especially after Zoe and Adam had taken off with barely a word of explanation – that one patient blurred into another. Both had denied that they would have allowed such a thing to happen, but neither seemed to remember it.

Dash jogged as she tried to catch up with Amy's long strides as they headed back out to the car. "So, what do you think is going on?" Dash asked. She knew she wasn't really asking the question for anyone's benefit; simply because someone needed to ask it.

Amy stopped and let her head hang back and she contemplated the surroundings of the hospital gardens for a moment. Finally, she turned to Dash. "They could both be telling the truth. Conversely, they could both be lying. They're probably about as credible as each other right now."

Dash's first instinct was to launch into passionate denial, much in the style of PJ earlier, but she quickly stopped herself. She knew emotion wasn't helpful here. "So which one do you personally believe?"

Amy opened her mouth to respond, but found that no words came. She simply didn't have an answer. Much to her relief, Dash caught sight of something behind her and motioned for Amy to turn around.

"Isn't that that nurse, Angie what's-her-name?"

"Cohen," Amy said as she nodded. "Angie Cohen." She sighed thoughtfully. Being so injury prone had to have some benefits – she'd certainly gotten to know the various members of the hospital's staff over the years. Angie was sitting on a bench on her own, unwrapping what appeared to be a sandwich.

"Miss Cohen?" Dash asked as she and Amy approached her.

Angie looked up, a little startled. A hint of a smile crossed her face at the sight of Amy. "It's nice to see you under different circumstances. Unless you've managed to find some new, creative way to get yourself hurt."

Red blush rose up into Amy cheeks as she looked away. Dash couldn't quite restrain a chuckle. It took Amy only a few seconds to compose herself. "Ah, actually, we were wondering if we could speak to you about a former patient?"

Angie raised an eyebrow. She seemed intrigued, and a little concerned. "Which former patient would this be?"

"David Bonner," Amy replied. She watched as a strange expression passed through Angie's face. "Allegations have been made regarding his death."

Angie combed hair back from her face with her fingers. "Was it his wife?" she asked. "She made a lot of noise about this after he died." Amy and Dash looked at each other briefly before Amy conceded Angie was right with a small nod. Angie sighed as she continued. "The whole thing's been an absolute mess…"

Amy frowned as Angie trailed off, while Dash tried to prompt Angie to continue. Recognising the distracted look on Angie's face, Amy turned to see what had caught Angie's eye. Stanley Blackman was standing by the hospital's emergency entrance, watching the scene with narrowed eyes.

Angie's distraction turned to panic as Amy turned back to face her. The nurse became flustered as she clumsily gathered her lunch together and stood up.

"Is there something wrong?" Dash asked, confusion in her voice.

Angie just shook her head as she tried to swallow down her sudden bout of nerves. "No…no. I just…" she paused for a moment. Amy noticed that Angie looked back over towards Stanley Blackman during the period of silence. "I just realised that I'm supposed to be covering for one of the other nurses. I'm so sorry!" She scurried away quickly before Amy or Dash had a chance to object, calling the apology over her shoulder.

Amy turned around, folding her arms against her chest as she studied Stanley Blackman carefully. He was still watching Angie as the nurse rushed back inside. He waited for a few moments after Angie had retreated indoors before following.

Dash sat down where Angie had been just moments before as she spoke. "What the hell was that all about?"

"Two words," Amy said thoughtfully as she joined Dash on the bench. "Stanley Blackman."

Dash frowned. "He doesn't want Angie talking to us," she mused. "So what does Angie know that he doesn't want us to know?"

Amy looked at Dash with a hint of a smile on her face. "Perhaps the more important thing here is that Stanley Blackman's indicating that he knows more than he's claiming he knows."

* * *

Mark's head snapped up as he heard a knock at the door. He smiled at the sight of Ringo through the blinds and motioned for him to enter. His gaze immediately fell to the papers in Ringo's hand.

"Did you find anything interesting?" Mark asked as he sat forward.

Ringo nodded as he offered the documents to Mark, who grabbed them eagerly. "I checked everything you suggested. Most of it is basically as you'd expect."

Mark scanned the documents as he motioned for Ringo to take a seat. "They did an autopsy, I notice," he said thoughtfully as he read. "Cause of death was anaphylactic shock."

Ringo leant across the desk to indicate a specific sheet of paper to Mark. "I did find some documents on the inquest," he explained, "not that there was much to find."

"What do you mean?" Mark asked as he looked over the inquest notes that Ringo had drawn to his attention.

"I mean that it was very short," Ringo replied. "Over in about a day. There was no mention of an allergy in David Bonner's medical history and everyone involved claimed that it had been so long since the event that they couldn't remember. Renee Bonner and her lawyer tried to argue against it, but…"

Mark sighed as he sat the documents down on his desk and began to massage the bridge of his nose. "It was Renee's word against the entire hospital's wasn't it?"

Ringo nodded. "The coroner found that there was no evidence against the hospital or any of the staff involved. There's no actual evidence to substantiate what Renee Bonner's saying."

He looked at Ringo thoughtfully. "That doesn't mean she's lying."

"Of course it doesn't," Ringo responded quickly. "It's just what the paperwork's saying, that's all."

Mark nodded as he sighed. He hadn't meant to be quite so harsh on Ringo, but it had just come out. The case was a maze and the key piece of evidence was missing.

If it had ever existed at all.

* * *

Mark slipped into the CI office just in time to hear PJ promising to buy the person on the other end of the line a beer the next time they met. He sat down in Amy's chair and watched as PJ slouched back casually.

"Anyone have any luck yet?" PJ asked as he stretched out. Mark couldn't help but smile at the realisation of just how much at home PJ was in this office.

"Ringo found some files, but none of them offer us anything new," Mark explained. "Amy and Dash called in from the hospital. They spoke to a few people but want to hang around for a little bit longer to check something out."

PJ couldn't quite restrain a chuckle at this. "They didn't happen to tell you what the 'something' was, did they?"

Mark thought for a moment then shook his head. "No, no they didn't."

PJ just smiled. It looked like Amy and Dash were onto something. That didn't surprise him. He knew Amy was a wonderful detective and Dash...he'd once made it clear that he doubted her, but in truth, he thought she had a wonderful capacity for this sort of stuff. And it reassured him to see her getting back into the rhythm of work.

"So," PJ said as he yawned and sat forward, "what exactly did the files Ringo found have to say?"

Mark gave something of a half-shrug. "Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. Nothing that would raise any suspicions. At least as far as the paper trail is concerned, it does honestly look like the doctors are in the clear for this."

PJ frowned. "Well, I had a word with a mate of mine from one of the medical associations," he explained. "I asked him about Zoe Hamilton and Julian Thompson, just to see if I could get some sort of perspective on them."

Mark nodded eagerly at this. "And?"

"And, he knows them. Or knew them, more accurately. Has met Zoe on a few occasions and went to uni with Thompson." PJ sighed thoughtfully. "He doesn't believe he knows Zoe well enough to comment on her, but claims that he's never heard anything about her that is more negative than the fact that nurses tend to think she's a bit of a task-master. But Thompson…"

Mark's brow furrowed. "What about Thompson?"

PJ looked at him thoughtfully. "This is very old information, based on their uni days. Which were more than twenty years ago. And this mate of mine refuses to put his name on the record anyway."

"What about Thompson?" Mark repeated, growing irritable.

PJ just sighed as he answered. "Apparently he had a little bit of a problem with drugs back in his uni days."

* * *

Angie Cohen felt her heart pounding as she slipped in behind the nurses' station. She knew she was being watched and by more than one person. Stanley Blackman was standing in a nearby corridor, seemingly leaning casually against the wall, but actually watching her just to make sure she didn't do what she'd just been about to do. And she was acutely aware of the fact that Amy and Dash were just metres away and waiting for her to come past them on her way to see one of her patients.

She finally decided to put off the inevitable. She grabbed up the tray and clipboard she needed and tried to muster as much dignity as she could as she walked past the two waiting police officers. They did exactly what Angie was expecting them to.

"Miss Cohen," Amy said, moving in front of Angie as she spoke, "we were wondering if we could continue that conversation we were having earlier?"

Angie just shook her head. "No, sorry," she said simply. She indicated towards the tray she was carrying. "I'm just a little bit busy if you didn't notice. Please excuse me…" She pushed past Amy and tried to continue down the corridor.

Amy and Dash shared a frustrated glance before Amy turned her gaze back to Angie's retreating back. "Miss Cohen! Miss Cohen! Angie!"

Angie turned at the sound of her name. Amy and Dash were advancing towards her. Angie drew in a deep breath before sighing heavily. "Look, please. Leave me alone. Don't talk to me here."

Amy and Dash looked to each other once again, each about as puzzled as the other. They were about to ask Angie why the hospital was such a bad place to talk to her when a voice sounded from behind them.

"Is there anything I can help you with, officers?" They spun to find that Stanley Blackman had crept up behind them and was looking at them with what appeared to be his best attempts at bemused professionalism.

Dash drew herself up to her full height as she composed a response. Amy tried to withhold a laugh at this. Dash's full height had never been very tall at all. "Well, Mr. Blackman, we were hoping that we could have a word with Miss Cohen…"

Stanley Blackman didn't give her a chance to finish. "Angie Cohen is a very busy nurse. You may not be aware, but she has been promoted to Nursing Unit Manager recently since we lost Adam Cooper. We're also still one nurse down from that, so we're slightly understaffed right now."

Dash felt a shiver go through her at the mention of Adam's name. Images of a little girl abandoned in a motel room under a blanket returned to the front of her mind. They were images she'd rather forget.

Amy looked to Dash worriedly before turning back to Stanley. "We understand that you're busy and understaffed, Mr. Blackman. So are we. But we need to speak to Miss Cohen about this, if you don't mind."

Stanley just looked her. "Well, I do mind," he replied. "We're busy. And if you're busy too, then I can't possibly understand why you're adding to your workload by taking on nonsense cases like this. So, officers, if there's nothing else I can help you with?"

Amy sighed. They weren't getting anything else here. Stanley Blackman wasn't going to allow it. She looked to Angie with a look that was close to sympathy as she and Dash left and headed back out to the car park.

* * *

They'd resumed working after Amy and Dash had returned. As fishy as Stanley Blackman's behaviour had been, there hadn't been much they could do about it unless they could find a way to get Angie Cohen to talk about it. Ringo had tried raising it with Chris Riley when he'd gone to collect the lunches, but she'd claimed to know nothing about it. About all he'd been able to learn was the Stanley did his drinking at the Commercial.

PJ's lead about Julian Thompson had prompted some excitement, but had quickly turned to dust. He wasn't listed on LEAP – in fact, he didn't have so much as a parking ticket to his name – and no one could find a single contact who had anything else they could say about him. And an unsubstantiated claim from a man who wouldn't put himself on the record as making that statement wasn't much use to anyone.

Mark was sitting behind his desk, slowly making his way through the files Ringo had brought him. He'd left the others to their own devices – he figured they were most likely trying to sort through the evidence of the case. The files still didn't reveal much of anything, but it was hard not to read them in a different light after hearing Amy and Dash's story. After hearing how Stanley Blackman had managed to intimidate Angie Cohen into silence, it was easier to believe that the hospital could have engaged in a cover-up of some sort.

The peace hovered over the station for a few hours. That is, until Nick returned.

They heard him before they saw him. His voice was booming from somewhere near the back entrance. "Why the bloody hell didn't anyone tell me?!"

Mark looked up to see Nick enter the muster room and turn on Dash. He lowered his glasses and approached the window to watch. It seemed Amy and PJ had had the same idea because they were standing in the doorway of their office.

Dash was looking up at Nick, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "What do mean?"

"Zoe. My Zoe. And the fact that someone's accusing her of killing a patient."

It took a moment for Dash to be able to come up with a response that seemed even half way adequate. "Someone had to go get the car from St. Davids. The Boss chose you. You weren't here."

"That's not an answer…"

Mark sighed. He could see Nick was about to take his anger out on Dash and she was about the last person that he wanted to see made into a target for Nick's rage. He opened the door to his office and took a couple of steps out into the muster room. "Nick."

It seemed his Sergeant didn't hear him at first, because the argument between Nick and Dash continued to escalate. Much to Mark's surprise, Dash seemed to hold her own rather well. Although, Mark realised, that probably shouldn't have surprised him. Dash was tougher than the rest of them put together when push came to shove.

"Nick Schultz!" Mark shouted, finally getting Nick's attention. And that of every other officer, for that matter. "My office, now."

Nick frowned at Mark for a moment before complying. He followed Mark inside and stood opposite the desk as Mark shut the door. It took Nick a moment to compose something that wouldn't come out as horribly rude. "Why wasn't I told?"

Mark sighed as he crossed the room to Nick. "Because we wanted to avoid you behaving just like you did just then. Except, instead of taking it out on Dash, it would have been one of the people involved in the case. And then we would have been left trying to explain why our Sergeant just assaulted a member of the general public. Interestingly enough, Ethical Standards tends to frown on that sort of thing."

Nick shuffled his weight awkwardly. As much as he didn't like to admit it, he did have a tendency to fly off the handle sometimes. And it seemed that that tendency had increased tenfold in recent times. He finally gave a reluctant nod. "Okay, okay," he conceded quietly. "So you're probably right."

"How did you find out about this anyway?" Mark asked as he perched himself on the edge of his desk.

"One of the St. Davids officers knew about it," Nick replied with a casual shrug. He was clearly dismissing the fact as relatively unimportant. "They'd found out about the case what with all the requests for files going on. Thought I'd want to know." Nick grew more serious as he continued. "So, what's going on anyway? What have you found?"

Mark hesitated. He met Nick's eyes for a fleeting moment before shaking his head. "No."

Nick's expression became one of confusion. "'No' what?"

"No, you're not going to do what I know you're thinking that you're going to do."

"And what's that?" Nick asked, folding his arms against his chest. "You know, considering you seem to have acquired the ability to read minds in my absence."

Mark just glared at him. Nick was putting on his 'pretend to be as obtuse as possible' act. It seemed some things would never change. "You want to get involved in the case and prove Zoe innocent. You love her and want to protect her. You might even be thinking that this might get you back into her good books. Don't."

Nick gave a roll of his eyes. "First Chris, now you. Does everyone want to give me relationship advice?"

"No, Nick," Mark replied, growing increasingly irritable as the conversation continued. "This isn't relationship advice. This is me telling you to keep your nose out of a case that you shouldn't be involved in, regardless of the state of your marriage. You've got no capacity for objectivity right now."

Nick shrugged. "I can be objective. I have absolutely no problems with being objective."

"You wouldn't know objectivity if it hit you over the head!" Mark snapped. He instantly regretted the tone of voice. He'd been too harsh. But something else inside of him refused to accept that judgement. He couldn't tiptoe around Nick forever, neither could anyone else. Perhaps it was the fact that everyone was scared of hurting his feelings that was half his problem.

Nick withdrew slightly at Mark's words. "Boss?"

Mark sighed. It took him a moment to respond. This time, he managed to stay calmer. "Look, this is an order. Not friendly advice. Not relationship advice. An order. Stay out of the case. Let us do our jobs."

"Yes, Boss," Nick said. His voice was dark and little more than a grumble. As he went to leave the office, he heard Mark speak from behind him.

"Oh, and Nick? Just a suggestion. Talk to someone. Please."

Nick looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Mark's face. His boss' expression had gone from the exasperated and frustrated one that had been facing him just moments before to one of concern. Nick looked down to his feet. He didn't think he could take the looks of concern. Without another word, he slipped out of Mark's office and past his colleagues in the muster room to the car park.

* * *

Zoe was at the motel room. It was her lunch break and she'd decided to duck home from work for a bit. She needed a bit of space from everyone. Or, perhaps more the point, space from the staring eyes of Stanley Blackman and the pressures of the investigation. She and Stanley had never seen eye to eye at the best of times. She knew that he'd always been more concerned with the hospital's 'image' than with anything else. It tended to manifest itself most clearly in her own workload – she honestly didn't believe the hospital would be functioning at all if she hadn't taken over half of the work that she knew the desk jockeys above her should be doing.

She was curled up on the bed with a book when she heard a knock at the door. She sighed, debating whether or not to even bother with it. Especially when the person on the other side identified themself.

"Zoe? Zoe, are you there? It's Nick. Mehmet Gulmez told me that you'd come home for lunch. Look, are you there? Can I come in?"

She sighed and kept trying to ignore him. But no matter how long she waited for him to go away, Nick kept knocking and calling for her. In the end, she conceded defeat and opened the door for him.

"What?" she asked irritably. "What do you want now? Flowers? Chocolates? Singing telegram? Come on, just get it out of the way…"

Nick stared for a moment, lost for words, before speaking. "I heard about the investigation…"

"The one your colleagues are running?" Zoe sighed. "Not that I exactly blame them for that. They don't have much choice in the matter…"

"What happened the day that patient died?" Nick asked, running right over the top of Zoe's sentence.

Zoe stared at him. "What do you mean?" She finally shook her head. "Look, I've said it once and I'll say it again. I don't remember. I don't remember what happened that day. I nearly drowned that day. Our boys did drown. That patient was pretty low on the list of priorities."

Nick ran his hand back through his hair. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and his mind flashing back to that awful day. For half a second, he almost swore he was back down in that storm drain, listening to Zoe's screams as she was swept away beyond his grasp. He shook those images away as best he could and tried to ignore them. "Look," he said firmly, "is there any chance that these claims are true? That this guy died because someone at the hospital stuffed up?"

He immediately regretted the tone he'd used. He hadn't meant to sound so firm or forceful. He knew that his anger and his desperation to get the images out of his head had come through in his voice. The sight before him now broke his heart. Zoe looked upset, offended and angry all at once.

It took a while for the words to fully sink in on Zoe. "You think I…I might have…" She shot him a poisonous glare. "Go to hell, Schultz. And I do mean it, this time."

And with that, she slammed the door in his face.

* * *

When Nick returned to the station, he made a beeline for the mess room. Amy went to follow, only for PJ to stop her. He needed to be left alone. Amy had been about to sit back down again when she heard the buzzer go off in the reception area. Seeing Ringo busy on the phone and Dash preoccupied with the computer, she offered to get it.

The woman standing on the other side of the counter generated a reaction of surprise. "Angie?"

Angie Cohen pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. "Amy."

Amy approached the counter hesitantly. "Are you okay?" she asked. At Angie's nod, Amy motioned towards the muster room. "Did you want to come through and talk about something?"

Angie shook her head firmly. "No. No one can know I've been here."

Amy found herself frowning. She shook her head in confusion. "Why?"

"Look, can we go somewhere and talk? Please?" Angie looked to her with a pleading expression. At Amy's doubting expression, Angie continued. "Please, Amy. Right now, I've got my job and reputation and God knows what else on the line. Right now, I'm making a bet that you're clean."

Amy thought about this for a moment and nodded. "It'll be no problem."

* * *

It was less than five minutes later that Amy and Angie found themselves sitting in Amy's old red ute in the police station car park. Angie had suggested going somewhere else, but Amy had reassured her that the station was fine. Especially when the car had been parked out the back and out of sight of the general public.

"So," Amy said as she shuffled in the driver's seat, "what did you want to talk about? You seem really worried about something."

"That's because I'm gambling with my job here. And my personal and professional reputations. And potentially even my criminal record, the way things seem to be going."

Amy frowned. "Okay. Tell me what's happening. You've got my assurance that I'm not corrupt or in anyone's pockets."

Angie looked at Amy thoughtfully for a while before responding. "Stanley Blackman has been at the head of the hospital board for a while now. And ever since he got the job, strange things have been happening."

"Strange?" Amy shook her head. "Strange how?"

"Well, for starters, the hospital administration only seems to do half its job these days. It's why Zoe Hamilton is so overworked all the time." She paused for a moment. "And people who deserve promotions aren't getting them."

Amy sat back. "Angie, if that's all…"

Angie shook her head. "No. I wish that was all. Stanley Blackman only cares about the hospital's image. He's a public relations man, nothing else. He's been bullying the staff to keep quiet on things that should have been reported. That case you're investigating is just one matter."

Amy's eyes became wide. "He explicitly pressured you to keep quiet about this case?"

Angie nodded. "I was the nurse on duty. I know full well that that allergy was recorded. It was on the chart. I wrote it there myself. But before you ask – no, I don't know who gave him the drug. I was dealing with another patient at the time."

"You perjured yourself in court…"

"Stanley threatened me," Angie replied. "He was going to destroy my reputation. He even threatened to find a way to blame the whole incident on me if I went public. No other members of staff would support me, both Zoe and Julian claimed not to remember…what choice did I have?"

Amy looked at her thoughtfully. "You could have come to us."

Angie shrugged. "Me against their forged paper trail? What hope did I have?"

Amy frowned. She took Angie's revelation in. Stanley Blackman was looking at attempt to pervert the course of justice, and they'd found a witness to support their story, but they were still on shaky ground.

It was a moment before Amy realised that the woman beside her was still talking. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Angie repeated herself. "I said that drugs have also been going missing."

Amy raised an eyebrow at this, her ponderings on the case at hand forgotten. "How long has this been going on for?"

"About ten months or so, at least that's when I found out about it," Angie explained. "We all know it's going on. We've reported it to the administration and to our superiors, but they told us to keep it quiet and that they'd look into it. When a few of us started talking about going to the police, the threats came out again."

Amy found herself chewing her bottom lip absentmindedly. "Which staff members were going to bring it to us?"

"Well, Adam Cooper, obviously…and Zoe Hamilton. Mehmet Gulmez was also fairly unimpressed. A few others talked about it, but we were the main ones who were about to come report it. We just wanted to make sure that we could all back each other up so Stanley couldn't threaten us."

Amy nodded. She opened the blue folder in her lap to a notepad and prepared her pen to write. "So, what was the drug?"

"It wasn't a single drug," Angie replied. "It was just a range of painkillers. Morphine, mostly. Mehmet and I started recording dates and amounts as best we could a few months ago, so I could probably give you that."

Amy nodded. "That'd probably be best." She turned to look at Angie. "I don't suppose you've got any idea who's been stealing the drugs, have you?"

Angie shook her head. "But whoever it is, Stanley is protecting them."

* * *

Stanley Blackman was sitting at his desk with his head down, apparently slaving over on some paperwork, when he heard a knock on the door of his office. He looked up to see PJ Hasham and Ringo Barnett standing in front of him. He forced a smile for his visitors.

"Ah, officers! What can I do for you?" he asked as he rose to his feet.

PJ and Ringo invited themselves inside, with Ringo closing the door behind him and leaning back against it to deter eavesdroppers. PJ stepped forward as he lowered his voice. "We've had some...allegations made regarding some of the staff at this hospital."

Stanley looked more than a little panicked. "Allegations? What sort of allegations? Is that Bonner woman making more unsubstantiated claims about my staff?"

PJ shook his head. "Not quite, sir." He moved in a little closer. He was sure that he saw Blackman squirm. "Have drugs been going missing lately?"

Stanley Blackman's eyes went wide. "I'm sure that I have no idea what you're talking about."

PJ raised an eyebrow as he paced the office. "Well, that's funny, because our informant is very certain about this. Apparently painkillers have been disappearing for months. Did you ever intend to report this?"

Stanley stared at him hard for a moment, before shaking his head. PJ understood immediately. He was feigning confusion. "Detective, I'm afraid that I still have no idea what you are talking about. However, I will be looking into this, make no mistake." Stanley's face hardened into a frown. "Is that all?"

PJ shrugged. "Unless you have something else you'd like to tell me about."

An uneasy silence fell across the room for a few moments before Stanley finally brightened slightly. "Actually, I did have a favour I was wondering if you could do for me."

PJ and Ringo shared a wary glance. "Go on."

"I've been wanting to do a search of the lockers for a while now. It's something that Bonner woman's lawyers have been demanding, but the staff have been jumping up and down about it. Something about a violation of their rights or some such. However, if you lot did the search..."

PJ studied Stanley's face for a while. He was trying to discern the motive behind this, but it was difficult. It was hard not to wonder if there was something more going on that just a public relations man who wanted the lawyers off his back. Something about that story just didn't ring true. But, on the other hand, the chance to go through the lockers was almost too good to resist...

"Okay, Mr. Blackman," PJ said thoughtfully. "I'll have to speak to my colleagues about this, but I think we can manage a search."

* * *

Amy was waiting at the charge counter for them when they returned. She looked up eagerly at the sound of the door opening and met PJ and Ringo's faces with a look of expectation. "So, did you get anything out of him?"

PJ pulled a face. It was one that Amy found a little bit hard to read. "Eh," he finally answered as he headed through to the CI office.

Amy just looked at Ringo with a bewildered expression before following PJ through. "'Eh'? What the hell does 'eh' mean?"

PJ hung his jacket over the back of his chair and reclined back. "Well, he denied all knowledge of the drug thefts that Angie told you about."

Amy looked rather pained at this. "I hope you kept that subtle. And I hope you kept her name out of it."

He looked at her plainly. "Of course I kept her name out of it. He basically just clammed up. He was more than a little bit miffed with me for bringing it up at all."

"As you'd expect," Amy mused as she sat down behind her own desk. "Did he say anything else?"

"Yeah. He wants us to do a locker search. Was rather insistent upon the fact, actually. But I'm not buying the story he's giving me over why he wants one now."

Amy just smiled. "Could be all the more reason to do one, then."

* * *

Dash felt deeply uncomfortable as she used the key that Stanley Blackman had given her to open a locker that had been labelled with the name 'Kyle Lucas'. Sometimes, she hated the things she had to do as part of this job and this was one of those times. Sure, she was a gossip - she was a McKinley, after all, it just ran in her veins - but part of her instinctively revolted at this. Perhaps it was just the fact that the locker she had to open next was Zoe Hamilton's.

A couple of metres away, Amy was trying to use Stanley Blackman's presence as an opportunity to dig for more information. Not that she was getting any. He was remaining closely guarded and was ensuring that she didn't get anything out of him that he didn't want her to get. And that was something that was frustrating Amy immensely.

Dash rifled through Kyle Lucas' belongings as quickly as she could before closing his locker with a loud bang - the best way she could think of to convey her unhappiness with the situation - and moving onto to Zoe's. She hesitated as she stood before it, more than a little bit troubled by the thought of what she might find within it. She didn't fear finding evidence to Zoe's guilt, far from it. Instead, she feared finding the same kinds of things that she knew she had in her own locker. The mementos and memories of children now lost.

She tried to shake that thought from her mind as she unlocked the door and opened it. On first glance, she couldn't see anything noteworthy here. Family photos were stuck to the inside of the door, with Nick and Zoe's wedding photo taking pride of place. There was a jumper and a spare change of clothes. A mobile phone. Though the wedding photo caught Dash's attention and held it for an inordinately long period of time, there seemed to be nothing really of significance.

Sighing, Dash began to rifle through the clothes. As she pulled the jumper out to get to the jeans and shirt below, she could still hear Amy and Stanley bickering. She briefly contemplated whether they'd be too annoyed with her if she told them to shut up.

She was about ready to declare that there was nothing here when she lifted the white coat lying at the bottom of the locker. Underneath it was a folder. She froze for a moment, before reminding herself not to be silly, that it could well be anything, and picking it up. She skimmed through its contents before she froze again.

It was a few moments before Amy realised something was wrong. "Have you found something?" she asked.

Dash looked up at the sound of Amy's voice and, without saying a thing, held the folder out for Amy. Amy, a look of confusion on her face, took it and began to read. After about a minute, she drew in a deep breath and looked to Dash. "Whose locker did this come from?"

Once more, Dash didn't say a word. Instead, she motioned Amy towards the inside of the open locker door. Amy instantly felt as though she'd had the breath knocked out of her.

"Oh, Zoe..."

* * *

It was late. Nick wasn't really sure how late - his watch had died months ago and his car radio was never accurate. All he knew was that night had fallen across Mt. Thomas hours ago and that it had seemed like forever since he had watched Amy and Dash return to the station, carrying David Bonner's patient records that had somehow found their way into Zoe's locker.

Once more, he'd found himself in the car park of Zoe's motel. He was waiting for her to return so that he could speak to her. He'd been here so many times lately. He'd lost count. Sometimes, he'd go in and try to make things better, but inevitably only manage to make things worse. Sometimes, he'd just sit in his car and try to make himself feel better with the knowledge that he was closer to her here than he would be if he went home.

So he was there waiting for her when Zoe's car finally pulled into the parking spot just outside of her room and Zoe climbed out. Nick wasn't far behind her. "Zoe! Zo!"

Zoe's shoulders slumped. She took a moment to turn to face him. "And what exactly do you want now?" she demanded irritably.

Nick recoiled, looking at her with a little bit of terror in his eyes. "Zo?"

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times...I'm not interested in your flowers or your singing telegrams or your poems or anything else. And I'm certainly not interested in any attempt by you to 'help'. Are you aware of what your attempts to 'help' have done?"

He just shook his head. Zoe sighed.

"PJ and Amy have been to see me and want to interrogate me tomorrow. Not that I've got anything new to offer them other than 'I don't remember'. Renee Bonner has somehow found out that I had her husband's medical records in my locker and is leaving me messages telling me that she's going to sue me. Oh, and Stanley Blackman has sacked me." Zoe sighed. She was surprised that the last one hurt so much to think about; in fact, it hurt more than the first two put together. Stanley Blackman had been so impossible to work with that it had increased her workload by more than five times. She'd sometimes thought it wouldn't be a bad thing to be sacked. Yet now, it hurt more than the thought than her friends not trusting her or the prospect of financial ruin. As she tried to shake of the thought, she drew in a deep breath. "So, as you can see, the attempts by you and your mates to help haven't exactly done me any favours here. I can probably do without you..."

Nick grabbed her hands. "I'm not letting you do this on your own. You're not alone."

She glared at him. "I don't want you here. I don't need you here. And if you don't let me go right now, I'm going to scream so loud that you'll be needing the lawyer more than I do." With that, Zoe tore her hands free from his and stormed inside.

It took Nick a while to absorb what had happened. Finally, he found himself heading back to his car with a greater amount of resolve than he had felt in months. He was going to get Zoe out of this. Singlehandedly, if he had to.

* * *

Mark had to do a double take when he arrived at work to find Nick already there. His Sergeant was sitting in place, sorting through some papers on his desk. The sight gave Mark a strange desire to check if the sky hadn't fallen in. Though Nick had gone through a phase of being the first one in and the last one out, he'd long since moved to never showing up anywhere near the time he was supposed to be on duty.

"Morning, Boss," Nick said distractedly as he continued chewing on a biro and sorting through the papers on his desk. He stopped his chewing briefly to circle something on one of the sheets and to scribble something down on a separate piece of paper.

"Morning," Mark said, his tone one of equal distraction. He wanted to ask Nick what he was doing, but decided to watch instead. He immediately felt his frustration rising as he realised just what Nick was doing. "Sergeant, what are you doing with the Bonner file?"

Nick looked up at him with an expression that...well, Mark wouldn't have described it as positive, but it was certainly less glum than any that he had seen on Nick's face lately. "What I should have done in the first place," he replied simply as he returned to his work. Moments later, Nick spoke again. "Have we run detailed checks on each of the staff, just to see who the most likely suspect might be for the drug thefts Angie told Amy about?"

Mark just stared at him wide-eyed. "Was I speaking Swedish yesterday? Or maybe French? Chinese?" Nick once more looked up, this time wearing an expression of confusion. "Did you not understand a single thing I said?" Mark folded his arms across his chest as he moved in closer. "I explicitly told you not to go anywhere near the Bonner investigation."

Nick sat back. "I know, I heard you the first time. Problem is, you lot aren't doing a very good job. I think I've gotten further than you in five minutes." He grabbed some of his notes, stood up to move closer to Mark and offered his notes to him. "We have a doctor with a history of drug abuse working at a hospital with a history of drug thefts. Why didn't you make that link?"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "So you think Julian Thompson was responsible for the drug thefts?"

Nick shook his head. "No, I more than think. We also have Stanley Blackman trying to protect him. Why haven't you figured that one out yet?"

"This is all very well and good, Nick, but we can't use your suspicions as evidence..."

Nick rolled his eyes as he stepped back. "Do I have to do everyone's job for them?" he demanded. He continued speaking before Mark got a chance to reply. "Don't worry Boss, I'll go do everyone else's job for them. I'll do all your jobs and mine and get the case solved long before the rest of you, how about that?"

Mark just stared, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. He was used to Nick being loud and blustery and capable of being very angry when provoked. He wasn't very used to Nick being pointedly cruel. He started to call after him to demand his return, but Nick had used Mark's brief period of shock to make his escape.

* * *

Nick found a tiny smile creeping across his face as he pulled into the driveway of a little cottage in a quiet, shady street. It was nice here. Peaceful. The kind of place that he'd always dreamt of, yet somehow never quite managed to attain. Perhaps it was because of all of the tragedy in his life, but he knew that the one thing he craved above all else was just a little bit of peace.

He rang the doorbell and waited. It didn't take long for the door to open to reveal a rather short woman with blonde hair. She looked up at Nick, taking only a few moments to recognise him. "Nick?" Angie Cohen said. She wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Nick didn't try to pull away from the hug. Truth be told, it was comforting. "Sorry for what?" he asked as he looked down to her with a bemused expression on his face.

She looked up at him with sadness etched into her features. "For…well, for everything." She pulled away from the hug as she pushed hair back behind her ears. "The last few months…they've been torture."

Nick winced. He didn't like being reminded. "Angie, I'm here about the stuff at the hospital…"

Angie pulled a face. "How much has Amy been saying? I told her to keep this quiet."

Nick just looked at her. "Come on, how long have you known me?" His words took the look of doubt and fear from Angie's expression. He continued. "I've seen the files. There have been drug thefts, haven't there?"

Angie nodded. "Painkillers. Small amounts here and there. If you've got the files, you'll know this stuff…"

He grinned. "That I do. What I want is you to help me catch the thief."

* * *

It was barely two hours later that Nick found himself sitting in the security guard's office at the hospital. It had taken effort, but Angie had managed to sneak him in when Stanley Blackman wasn't looking. And the security guard had turned out to be a rather more agreeable fellow than Blackman and quite happy to go along with Nick's scheme as soon as Nick flashed his badge.

Angie watched as Nick played with the controls for the security camera, testing out the instructions from the security guard. "This can't work," she said doubtfully. "This is just too ridiculous to work."

Nick just shot her a grin. "And that, my dear, is precisely why it will work." He removed himself from the controls and gave Angie's shoulder a squeeze. "Pretend everything's normal. Don't act at all differently. And we'll catch our thief on hidden camera. Just make sure he's in shot."

She just shook her head. "I'll do it," she said, "but you're insane. You do know that, don't you?"

Nick smiled as Angie slipped away. He sat back in a chair facing the monitor and looked over to the security guard.

"How long do you think this will take?" the security guard asked as he reached over for a thermos of coffee.

Nick turned back to the monitor. He couldn't believe his luck. He grabbed the controls and zoomed in. As the sight registered, he couldn't quite restrain a beaming grin. "Somehow, I don't think this will take very long at all."

Within just minutes of their arrival, Julian Thompson was already standing in front of the dangerous drugs cupboard, looking around him to check that no one would see what he was about to do.

* * *

None of Nick's colleagues were overjoyed when Nick returned to the station with Angie Cohen and Julian Thompson in tow. Mark demanded answers, Amy broke in with lectures about protocol, while PJ became fascinated by the story of what had unfolded. It was a few minutes before order could be restored, Thompson escorted to the interview room by Dash and Ringo, and Amy and PJ left to do the interview. Although Nick had pleaded to be allowed in, Mark had refused. The glare he shot Nick said more than any explanation ever could have. He might have found them some evidence, but they didn't need him to jeopardise the case anymore than it already had been.

PJ turned the tape recorder on and stated the usual information required for the sake of the tape. Then he turned to Thompson. He moved forward towards the desk in the centre of the room and laid an evidence bag containing a syringe down for Thompson to see. "We have a recording and two eye witnesses who saw you take this from the Dangerous Drugs Cupboard."

Thompson didn't say anything. He looked away with an almost sulky expression on his face.

Amy, who was sitting across from him with her arms folded across her chest, gave an impatient sigh. "Look, we have two witness statements. We have video of you stealing a syringe of morphine. We can do this the long way or you save us a lot of time and paperwork and just tell us what's been going on, because I can tell you right now what conclusion a judge and jury are going to draw."

Julian Thompson took a moment to digest that fact before nodding slowly to himself. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll talk to you."

* * *

Mark raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the story PJ and Amy had just told him. "So Thompson's a drug addict."

Amy nodded. She was leaning against the large window and looked briefly to PJ before turning back to Mark. "He's been addicted since uni. There's been a few periods on and off where he's been clean, but nothing longer than about six months."

PJ jumped in. "There's also been a few malpractice suits against him where they've claimed negligence due to his addiction, but there's never been anything concrete enough against him to have him struck off. But it's why he's here instead of some fancy Melbourne hospital. You know the old story…"

Mark rolled his eyes. He hadn't been in Mt. Thomas as long as PJ – in fact, he'd barely unpacked his bags as far as some locals were concerned – but he certainly knew how this concept worked. The police loved to take advantage of it too when it suited them. If someone screwed up so much that they were a liability, but not quite badly enough to get rid of them entirely, they were shifted to the country. "Out of sight and out of mind," he finished for PJ. He turned to Amy. "So he's made a full confession, I take it?"

Amy and PJ suddenly both looked very uneasy. They shared a wary glance and shuffled their feet. They looked like a couple of nervous Probationary Constables who'd just stuffed up and were trying to avoid admitting so to their superior officer.

"Right," he said as he leant forward. "You can stop doing a Kelly and Joss impression now and just spit it out. There's something you're not telling me." Mark's face fell. "Please don't tell me that he's only confessed to the drug thefts and we've still got the Bonner case to deal with."

An awkward silence fell across the office. It took a while before PJ could break it. "He confessed to the Bonner death, alright. He said that after Zoe and Adam took off, he was left in charge. He hadn't been able to nick any morphine that day so was suffering withdrawal symptoms. He's admitted that he forgot to check the chart and that he's been lying ever since."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "So what's the problem?"

"He had nothing to do with the file being forged or going missing," Amy replied. "He just went along with it when he realised that it meant he was in the clear."

PJ looked to Mark with a thoughtful expression. "He didn't put it in Zoe's locker. He couldn't have. Aside from the fact that he didn't know that there was two files until the inquest, he had no way of getting into her locker."

Mark seemed intrigued by this. "Why? How does the hospital's locker system work?"

Amy held up two fingers. "There are only ever two sets of keys for each locker." She counted off one finger. "One for the person who owns the locker and…"

Mark's eyes suddenly widened. "Please tell me that Stanley Blackman has the second set."

PJ smiled. "Bingo."

* * *

Stanley Blackman's expression became one of annoyance as Amy and Dash entered his office, but he quickly covered it with a forced smile. "Ah, Senior Detective Fox! I've been hearing that you've made progress with the Bonner case."

Amy nodded as she clutched her folder close to her chest. "We have," she said with a smile. "You'll be pleased to know that Julian Thompson has been charged with offences relating to drugs and attempting to pervert the course of justice."

Stanley suddenly seemed very uncomfortable. "What about Zoe Hamilton?" he asked. "The file was in her locker, after all?"

"Totally innocent," Dash replied as she shrugged. "She had nothing to do with it. As Thompson tells it, the death probably happened when she wasn't even at the hospital."

He seemed to grow even more uncomfortable, but managed to draw a deep breath to calm himself. "Well, I suppose Thompson must have placed the file in her locker to frame her." He sighed darkly. "An understandable action, I guess. Though the thing I can never understand is how Thompson got away with having a drug habit in this hospital…"

Amy finally rolled her eyes. "Let's stop playing pretend, shall we?" she said firmly. "I'm not the media and I don't give a damn about the hospital's reputation. I know that there were drug thefts and that you were threatening your staff to keep them quiet. I know that you employed a drug addict and allowed him to continue working even as his addiction affected the running of the hospital. And I know that you covered for him when his addiction led to an innocent patient's death."

Stanley glared at her hard as he rose to his feet. "I hope you have something more than just allegations there, Detective."

Amy matched his glare while Dash stepped in to try to defuse the tension. "How many sets of keys does the hospital have for the staff lockers, Mr. Blackman?" she asked diplomatically.

Stanley drew himself to his full height. "Two," he replied quickly. "One for the staff member and another that the hospital keeps for emergency access. You used that set when you were searching. What a stupid question, though. I fail to see what keys have to do with anything…"

Amy smiled. "Everything, Mr. Blackman. You see, how did Julian Thompson frame Zoe Hamilton if the only sets of keys were either in her possession…or right here in your desk?"

Stanley stared at her hard. He studied her for a moment as he realised just what she was implying. "How dare you suggest that I would do such a thing?" he roared. "I would never stoop so low as to break the law! What motive could I possibly have?"

"Oh, I don't know," Dash said with a casual shrug. "How about what you told Detective Hasham when you were first taken to the station? What was it again…protecting the hospital's reputation or some such?"

Amy nodded as she looked over to Dash before returning her gaze to Stanley. "Yeah, I can't imagine what this would have done to the hospital's PR…or yours, for that matter. You hired a drug addict, protected him, threatened your own staff…"

"…And then he went and stuffed up and killed someone while he was suffering from withdrawal." Dash finished.

Stanley Blackman continued to stare at Amy hard for a while, before finally he sat down behind his desk. "Look, I have a hospital to run. If you want to pursue this, you'd better arrest me."

Amy and Dash looked at each other and both of them shrugged.

"Stanley Blackman, I am arresting you for attempting to pervert the course of justice," Amy said as she put her hand on Stanley's shoulder.

* * *

PJ watched from the doorway of the CI office as Mark ran Stanley Blackman through the charge counter. Amy stood beside him, her arms folded across her chest. Stanley's interview had been about as unpleasant as could be expected, but they had just about enough to charge him in the end.

"Do you think it will stick?" Amy asked as she looked up to PJ.

PJ frowned as he considered it. "Depends," he finally answered. "It'll come down to what lawyer he goes for. And what judge he gets on the day. And how good the hospital staff are in the witness box." He suddenly smiled as an afterthought struck him. "But he'll forever be known as the guy who hired and covered for the morphine addict. He's a PR guy with bad PR. And the hospital has already appointed a new head for their board and has reinstated Zoe as the Head of the ER department. So all's well, isn't it?"

Amy returned his smile and slipped back into the CI office, while PJ followed and closed the door behind him. Suddenly alone, she realised just how tired she felt. The case had been draining and she just felt physically and emotionally exhausted. She sank down into her chair and passed a hair across her eyes.

PJ looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before slipping around to behind her chair and bending down to wrap his arms around her. That stirred Amy back to life a little and she grinned as he kissed her cheek.

"I don't want us to ever end up like Nick and Zoe," PJ said quietly as he hugged her tighter.

Amy's eyes widened and her grin vanished as she tried to process what PJ had said. She found herself thinking again of Nick, of her best friend whose pain had been breaking her heart because there was just nothing she could do to help him. And of Zoe, who had come between her and PJ and catastrophe more times than she cared to count and, without whom, she wouldn't be here now. She had always admired Nick and Zoe's relationship and had wondered how they had managed to have such a wonderful relationship in spite of their jobs and their twins. That things were falling apart for them just made her feel horrible.

But now PJ's words put a new twist on things. Even long before things with PJ had become romantic, she'd cared for him as her closest friend and confidant. Even during those long years away in Homicide when she'd tried to forget him because thinking of him meant thinking about things that just brought her uncle too close to her mind, she'd never thought badly of him. She loved him and couldn't bear the thought of their relationship ever getting so toxic.

She broke free from PJ's arms as she turned her chair so she was facing him. "We never will, Peej."

And with that, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him harder than she thought she'd ever kissed him in her entire life.

* * *

_Next Episode: "Things Fall Apart"_

_The problems in Nick and Zoe's troubled marriage are brought to a climax after Nick is shot and Zoe is in the frame as the prime suspect. Mark and Chris are forced to consider whether they are looking for completely different things in their relationship after it becomes public knowledge. Meanwhile, Dash is struggling to cope and it seems Ringo is the only one who knows why._


End file.
